I Missed You
by Word-Spitting-Dragon
Summary: Almost a year mourning his death and what do I find? The little prat isn't even dead! All that worry for what! And he didn't even have the nerve to tell me? I do believe its time for that revenge I'm always going on about... NatXBart
1. Missing You

_Bartimaeus_

I never really cared to think about the afterlife before. Obviously, you try to avoid dying, and if, for some stupid reason (like say sacrificing yourself for the sake of trying to be some heroic idiot like a _certain _person I knew) you do die, well, you're dead. So congratulations, you get to rot in the earth for a few decades while the worms chew at you.

But, for once in my vast existence (ok, not exactly once, I thought much the same and still hope for Ptolemy) I actually wished the afterlife were a little more than just a hole in the ground. So it was with a strange twinge in my essence I looked at the scene before me.

I'd never been able to visit a grave before, always being tied down by some greedy magician, but thanks to Kitty, I was back to the same freedom I'd been granted under Ptolemy. At first I spent it seeing sites around London (I say around because London itself is garish place. Nothing but smelly humans, and iron structures that cast out the sky. Ugh. Its no wonder humans are so dreadful, spending their lives in those hovels they call cities) but soon I came the feel a heavy sensation in my essence that no amount of shape shifting or visits home could cure. It was probably because of the time I spent in that little wretch of a boy, but I suspected I was beginning to fall victim to the horrible useless feelings humans called _emotions_. Not that I didn't have feelings of course (I'd felt plenty in my time, mostly painful and ending with some form of taunting that I don't believe I'll go into now.) but I'd also never been held back by them in the horrible, inhibiting way human emotions seemed to do.

I _suppose_ Nat hadn't been _completely _horrendous. I mean, he'd been a horrible little prat who wore my essence to the bone (Figuratively, of course, since I didn't really _have_ bones) and sent me on all sorts of nonsensical errands. But then, what magician wouldn't? It was part of their charm, or lack of. He did, however, do one thing of worth; saving me. And I _suppose_ I did sort of understand why he was such a prat after having spent time rattling around in his head. But that didn't mean I actually _missed _him, did it?

The false boy raised a hand to his eye and pulled it away, glistening with moisture. He was standing around 500 feet away from what was left of a giant glass and iron pyramid. He didn't dare get closer for the cold sting the iron presented, nor did he move away, out of the vaguely painful presence. The ruble had been taped off in bright bands of yellow, proclaiming the danger ahead and several orange trucks and orange-clad workmen worked to clean up the rubble.

After 237 days, the rubble had yet to be properly cleaned. I would cite other examples of the extraordinary laziness of humans, but I suppose with the rebellion and other human issues going on it was understandable. If you understood humans, which I knew I never would.

Flicking the moisture from his hand to the ground, the boy took a step back, into the shadows, and transformed into a scarlet hawk.

There was no sense staying around such a dreary place. I knew I wouldn't get the answers I wanted from it. 5,000 years I'd lived, and only 2 years had been filled with purpose. After Ptolemy summoned me, my life had some meaning, rather than my own ego and self preserving ways to satisfy I had actually found someone to live for. Another 2,000 years after his death I'd had to wait before my life started to have purpose again. And then the moron had to go and get himself killed. Not to say Kitty didn't give me some purpose. Of course I'd give my life to Kitty, she was my everything now, but I never got to see her really. The trip to the Other Place had taken so much out of her the only thing she ever got up to was reading and having an amazingly stimulating conversation with yours truly. I didn't need to protect her because there was nothing to protect her from. And although I loved talking to Kitty, she was much too much like myself, and as amazing as I am, there is a such thing as too much of a good thing. I couldn't really tease Kitty, not like I could Nat.

2,000 years of waiting for another purpose.

And the only one I wanted went down in rubble 237 days ago.


	2. A Choice

_Nathaniel_

It had all started with a choice, a choice that was made in response to one simple question.

He chose to tell a family of strangers that his name was not John Mandrake but Nathaniel. He chose to abandon everything he knew the second the syllables passed his lips, knew without a doubt he'd hit a life-altering decision. He knew this without a doubt, because he's made many life-altering decisions in his time. All horrible, selfish mistakes and he longed to lay claim to one good one.

Nathaniel sighed moodily, trying not to grimace at the scene laid out before his bedroom window. It wasn't that he completely hated the scene; after the few months he'd spent absorbing the salty sea air, listening to the screeching of the fish mongers and the squabbling of the haggling locals, he'd come to love the area. It was just hard not to think of it as a downgrade.

Rather than a posh London townhouse, Nathaniel now resided on the top floor of a slightly rundown apartment complex. The ceiling sloped at odds and ends with the shape of the roof, the two rooms and half bath were positively tiny, and a persistent fishy smell lay about the area, whether from mold or its seaside perch, Nathaniel could only guess.

No, not a downgrade because, for once in his life, the faces he recognized amongst the throng of people didn't fill him with disdain. He didn't treat them with false politeness and curse them behind their backs. He wasn't afraid to scream responses from halfway across the square and worry what others thought of his foolish actions.

He would come to love the scenery, no matter how quaint, because for once in his life, Nathaniel was actually _living_. He was having _fun._ And if you had told him a year ago that he, John Mandrake, favorite of the Prime Minister and in charge of wartime propaganda would be living with the enemy, living in some tiny American fish town and actually enjoying it… Well, he'd have laughed in your face, declared you mad, and shipped you off to the tower for dangerous ideas.

But, of course, his time in power had long since passed. He was now a humble commoner – well – as humble as Nathaniel ever got anyway. And he only took odd jobs for the fun of it, unlike the poor commoners who worked for their livelihood just to make ends meet. Nathaniel didn't have to worry about such things because he'd brought a little nest egg of funds along with him that would have lasted for years in England but in the new sprouts of a baby country? Well, he never needed to worry about getting his bread and butter.

That was one thing that didn't really change about Nathaniel. For the most part he was still very selfish but it wasn't wholly in his old way. After all, Nathaniel didn't frivolously spend and slap his wealth in others faces like he might have done as his magician self. Instead, he squirreled it away and kept quiet about it – earning extra wages through helping friends, yes he actually had _friends_ now, do their daily chores.

It was an odd life, but a good one. Not necessarily hard nor easy – but very satisfying. He supposed that it was a good thing Nouda had very nearly killed him, for without the uprising, Nathaniel would have died a stuffy old arse without a friend or a good deed (that he'd done for the sake of being good rather than polishing his reputation) to his name. Although there were fleeting moments that Nathaniel wished he'd simply died. If he had died he wouldn't have to spend quiet, sleepless hours wondering if Bartimaeus was doing well in the Other Place, or at least under a better master than he had been, or wondering if Kitty's trip to the Other Place ever bothered her, if she was really as healthy as her aura had looked.

But that was in the past.

Nathaniel couldn't tell Kitty he was alive – that would be cruel. By the time he himself had know he was alive nearly four months had elapsed, Kitty would have thought him long dead and, because he would be living across and ocean and would probably die without seeing her again anyway, there was no real point to tell her.

As for Bartimaeus… well, the dijin probably didn't care so long as he was home and free of servitude. As much as Nathaniel wished to see his old servant, he figure Bartimaeus didn't wish to see him. After everything Nathaniel had done to him, it would be a miracle he didn't hate him. Besides, even if all the brutally honest, yet oddly comforting feelings and thoughts Nathaniel had felt from Bartimaeus before dismissing him had, in fact, been for Nathaniel, there was still little reason to summon him again. Nathaniel had given up the pompous magician life, partly by choice, partly because the staff had drained him of most of his power. And Bartimaeus, hating magicians, wouldn't want to see him as one again. That and with the long life the dijin had, Nathaniel figured telling him he was alive would be about the same as doing so and dying the next day. An extra 60 or so years of life was nothing in comparison to Bartimaeus' long existence. Besides, the biggest reason he didn't wish to summon the dijin was because Nathaniel feared that, if given the chance, he would return to his black hearted life. With no powerful magicians left it would be simple to take over London – and Nathaniel feared he wasn't strong enough to resist the temptation.

So it was with this resolve that John Mandrake, and all his magicianing ways, died and Nathaniel emerged.

_It's better this way anyway_, Nathaniel thought. _I'm finally afforded the life I would have had if my birth-parents hadn't abandoned me. _

With a firm little nod, Nathaniel yelled down across the little square to a group of boys in fishing gear. He grabbed a sketch book off his bed, leaving the sheets crumpled, pulled on some boots and a coat and crossed the small 15 foot space to the door. He pulled a brass key from his trouser pocket, fingering a hole as he did so, and locked the door with a decisive click. He then took the rickety wooden stairs two at a time until he reached the cobble stone walkway at the bottom and all but ran to the group of boys waiting for him. They slapped a yellow fisherman's had on him, clapped him on the back and jumped onto an old fishing boat, white with blue trim and hull, and got right to work untying the thing.

Nathaniel threw his sketch book in the cabin and ran to the sails, where he roped himself to the mast, so the currents couldn't claim him if it got stormy, and began to hoist the mast.

"ALL CLEAR! SAIL'S AT THE READY!" Nathaniel hollered; a chorus of responses assailed him. And with the captain's response, "PREPARE TO DIEMBARK!" the two boys standing half on the boat and half on the old wooden dock heaved back the gangplank and, with a lot of grunts a cruses, pushed with all their might against the dock sending the boat teetering away from the harbor.

_It's better this way…_


	3. The Discovery

_Bartimaeus_

If you were to ask me why the almighty Bartimaeus, Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty, and the Serpent of Silver Plumes, who rebuilt the walls of Uruk, Karnak, and Prague, and spoken with Solomon and Ptolemy would lower his awesome self to going shopping with a certain girl – why, I would have told you the obvious answer. _To hold her bags of course_.

That's right, I was wasting a perfectly good day, toting around hats and clothes and other useless female pleasures while she cooed and ah-ed at various items. Well, ok, I _suppose_ it wasn't that bad. (Actually, Kitty Jones was all business when it came to shopping. Steel-faced, haggling, maniac – she refused to waste a single second glancing at the pretty useless junk that would've stopped other girls in their tracks. No, Kitty had a list of what she wanted and wanted to get the hell out of the dreadful store just as quickly as I did – probably why I was so keen on the kid, anyway.) Kitty had asked me to go shopping with her, not for a second opinion on dresses (Not to say that I'm not good at second opinions, because I _am_) but so I could accompany her to Whitehall afterwards, for some conference or something. I honestly hadn't been listening. All I knew was that she had to wear something 'nice' and that all her nice things had been eaten by a moth infestation about a week back. She quickly bought a pair of smart, black pants and a white button up shirt, changed into them, and then we were off. (Of course she didn't change in front of me! There was a pit stop to the ladies room involved I assure you.)

Unfortunately, Whitehall hadn't stayed burned to the ground for very long. It was still a horrible mess but in that way that all magician residences are – not that it held very many magicians anymore. Apparently there was some sort of council going on for the commoner's rights. Kitty hadn't wanted to go but was somehow forced into it. (She wouldn't tell me _how_ exactly, and got cross whenever I tried to ask) I came as delightful company. That and, _supposedly_, they wanted my testimony. Something about needing the true events of the spirit uprising nearly a year back and, _possibly_, creating some laws to _protect_ spirits so they wouldn't feel so mistreated that they had to repeat such an incident. (It would be nice but I doubted it. Piper, although better than most magicians, had been falling back into her old magician ways and I suspected this was a ploy to make her seem like a lovable leader or some other bull. Not that it mattered to me anyway – as long as Kitty was alive I was enjoying my own kind of protection.)

Maybe that was why Kitty came back. She was pretty sharp for a human and probably noticed that the council needed a good slapping to get it back into shape. This was the main reason I came. I'm quiet good at slapping, you know.

"Alright," Kitty smoothed down her shirt and straightened her back, staring at the government building like it would rear up and bite her, "We get in, slap some sense into these morons and then get the hell out. I'm _not_ wasting my afternoon arguing politics." She made a face with which I couldn't agree more wholly.

"Any particular reason we need the monkey suits?" I asked, gesturing to the smart white shirt and black trousers Kitty had forced Ptolemy's form into (her outfit was quiet the same – right down to the trousers. I asked her why trousers and she'd told me skirts are harder to fight in, like I'd know, but she actually seemed to think we were about to get into a fist fight. I always felt the same whenever I had to deal with magicians).

"Apparently some new etiquette policy. We're supposed to set a good example." She wrinkled her nose.

"Magicians, am I right?" I asked shaking my head.

She grunted a rather rude response (not to me, at least I hope not) and led the way into the building.

The meeting itself was rather slow. Kitty argued some good points, to which the councilmen (and women) reluctantly agreed to or made some abridged compromise of. Nothing too special. They wanted my testimony and I gave it to them (without any of my clever wit, I regret to say. Kitty made it very clear I was to be polite to these goons). Nothing fancy. I told them of my epics and Nathaniel 's stupidity – mainly the moron's decision to go blow himself up. They gasped at that, _clapped_ even – and proclaimed what a _true hero_ he was for sacrificing himself and having the heart to save his spirit _friend_ (I was not his friend, nor did I agree with them. A hero was he? I thought he was a complete idiot. Sure he got a fancy plaque next to Gladstone's, but for _what_? He was worm food – how is _that_ heroic?)

Finally after my testimony and talk about a new way of employing spirits (they were very curious about how Nathaniel and I worked together but I told them, unless they wanted to end up like him they should just stick to being nicer to their slaves from now on) the meeting started to wind down. They were going to take a twenty minute break and then begin discussing the rebellion and treaties with other countries, Kitty and I were asked to stay and she reluctantly agreed, telling me to save myself in a whisper. But I wanted to know one thing before they all went to eat cookies and other refreshments, "Have they found the remains yet?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" Ms. Piper looked over at me, in the middle of standing, and with an understanding little 'oh' she said, "Unfortunately not. As you can imagine, we are working on cleaning up the rubble, but there are more pressing matters than…well… _funeral_ preparations."

"Actually no, I can't imagine. The bloke goes and kills himself for you lot and you won't even bother giving him a proper burial? Sure, fine, it doesn't matter right? He's already buried, why dig him up to shove 'em back in the ground?"

Ms. Piper flinched; "That's not quiet what I-"

"Oh sure, _sure. _You didn't mean one damn bit right? You magicians are all the same – all talk. You say you'll honor his memories, call him a true hero and leave him to rot under ten tons of rubble. Some _honor._"

All eyes were on me now, an eerie silence falling over the council. Kitty grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze, "Bartimaeus…" she muttered, trying to calm me down.

But I was on a roll, unable to stop myself. The curious feelings Nathaniel had infested me with worming their way up my throat making my voice strangled, like some sort of disease. "Not you too Kitty!" I growled, jumping to my feet, "Look, I don't know what you humans fascination with burying your dead is, I think its horribly depressing, but you've got one thing right. You actually have _proof_. When we spirits go, _poof_, we just don't exist, no funerals or _honors_, we're just _gone_. At least with Nathaniel you can have some semblance of _closure_, I think at the very _least_ he deserves that!"

Before I could continue, Mrs. Piper cut me off, "Who is Nathaniel ?" she seemed to speak in a trace, and I could barely hear her. "I thought we were speaking of Mr. Mandrake."

I felt ice water rush down my spine, I'd actually been stupid enough to reveal his true name, in _magicians _presence no less!

"Well… I…I…" I stammered, feeling my sudden anger die away. Kitty was squeezing my hand so hard it was beginning to hurt. She looked like she was about to cry. "Never mind." I muttered, feeling numb. "Go enjoy your damn snacks." Shaking my head I turned and left the round table we'd been seated around. I pushed past Ms. Piper and out the double wide wooden doors. I wasn't even halfway down the hall when I heard the room explode with conversation.

"_Nathaniel !_"

"It _couldn't be_ could it!"

"His birth name! That demon actually knew his _birth name_."

Ms. Piper was speaking now, "They always seemed oddly close, too close… but I had _no idea_."

"This is beyond _anything_ I've ever heard of!" Mr. Button, half excited, half terrified and a dozen other voices I didn't recognize.

"How long do you think he knew it?"

"It couldn't have been long right? He would have killed him otherwise!"

"Killed him! Did you see its _face_? It's probably in love with him!"

"But it's a _demon_!"

"It goes against the most basic rules of sorcery!"

"You don't think they-"

But I'd blocked them out now, I was running down the corridor, my feet slapping loudly against the linoleum.

I didn't care where I went; I just wanted to get away from them. I had the horrible feeling my chest was about to burst, my breath came in shuddering gasps – I couldn't understand what was happening to my body, I didn't need air so why did I suddenly feel like I was suffocating? Why was my chest hurting so much?

I suddenly started to feel tired, my feet slowed and I slipped into the nearest room – a library or summons room from the look of it. I slammed the door shut and leaned heavily on it, trying to pull in more air that I didn't need and sliding to the floor in an attempt to muffle the strangled noises that were trying to escape me.

Truth be told, I was _terrified_. What in the name of the Other Place was _happening_ to me!

My face damp, my chest heaving, I felt like iron or silver pressed down on me from every direction.

I let the spasm run its course, powerless to do anything to stop it. When I finally quieted, I furiously wiped at my cheeks (the ones on my face of course) and sniffed, trying to regain my composure.

"Jeeze, where did _that_ come from! Can't a guy get any sleep anymore!" I jumped, not expecting the horribly obnoxious voice to assail me.

I looked about and found a large sphere sitting in a dark corner of the room, cobwebs growing on it, dwarfed by the giant book shelves lining the walls.

I recognized it immediately; it was the scrying glass the council had used before all the magicians capable of using it were killed. I doubted Ms. Piper and her lackeys could control a mouler, let alone the lesser dijin hiding inside the ord. Slowly I got to my feet and walked over, the voice cackled again, it lit up and dimmed in sync with its words, "What's the matter little boy? Those nasty magicians make you cry?" It laughed, its light show was starting to give me a headache and if it wasn't protected in its little dome I would've smacked it.

"I've got an idea, why not let me out? I'll make you feel better, I promise." I laughed again, really starting to annoy me, it was. (You could tell it was at the bottom of lesser dijin from its lack of intelligence and sheer stupidity. It seriously thought _I _was a _human_. A _magician_ no less. And I was only Ptolemy on three planes! Although after however many decades trapped in there I suppose it had a right to be a little stir crazy).

I was about to respond with a snarky comment when an idea hit me. "If I agree to let you out, will you show me someone free of charge?" It was a gamble, sure. There was no reason this idiot would comply with me, I wasn't a magician, but I was hoping he was stupid enough to try anyway.

He was.

"Let me out of here kid and I'll let you see a hundred people. Who do you wanna see?"

I hesitated. First off the idea was really stupid, hopeless really, in the first place. Secondly I wasn't even sure which name to use. John Mandrake was recorded dead and there must be a hundred Nathaniel s out there. But the sudden battering of emotions had scrambled my wits a bit, so I decided to give it a try.

"John Mandrake." I said.

It wasn't like I expected to see Nathaniel 's face pop up in the orb, but I admit I was more than a bit disappointed when the dijin didn't even try. "He's recorded dead, stupid. Don't waste my time!" he shrieked.

I have no idea how he knew that, from the look of all the cobwebs I would have thought he'd be a little behind on his update.

"So you're not even going to try?" I demanded, seriously wishing he wasn't encased in crystal. I'd make him cooperate then.

"Not gunna bust my hump for your delusions kid. Try again or lemmie out."

I huffed. I was about to leave, there was no point asking for just Nathaniel – I needed a first and last name to scry… well that or a birth name and mental picture… I _did_ have plenty of those. But no, I shook my head, trying to dispel the foolish idea. When did I turn into a sentimental twit? There was no point trying, he was dead. The best I would get would be an image of worms feasting on his corpse.

Regardless, the false boy placed his brown hand on top of the sphere. It was cool to the touch. He closed his eyes and pictured a pale faced teen with dark black locks and cold, calculating eyes, "_Nathaniel _."

_Just as long as I know for sure_… I found myself thinking, foolishly. Like I didn't already know he was dead. I was _there_.

I felt the sphere begin to warm and suddenly didn't want to open my eyes, afraid of what I'd see. _Now who's acting stupid?_ I chided myself and forced my eyes open… my legs just about gave way.

A battered old fishing boat filled the orb, several tanned, lean boys were running back and forth shouting things and a few were line fishing. But there, right smack dab in the center with his back resting on the mast, sitting on a pile of ropes, sat a very familiar boy.

He was sketching something, concentrating deeply. I couldn't see his face and I demanded the dijin get closer. With a huff, he did so. And I was able to make out the curve of his jaw, his scrawny neck, jet black hair… suddenly he looked up. _Right _at me or the dijin anyway; I felt my breath catch, I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

He was squinting at the dijin almost as if he could see it, made a face and pulled something shiny out of his pocket. Before I had a chance to make out what it was he tossed it in my direction.

With a yelp, the image fade and was replaced with the ugly warted mug of the lesser dijin. "OW! The little jit pegged me with an iron nail, he did!"

I smiled. I wasn't sure how but I was absolutely positive of one thing – Nathaniel was alive!

I turned to walk off, ignoring the spirit's whining when he yelled at me, "HEY! Forgetting something!"

My smile grew and I danced back to the sphere, "I believe I am." I agreed.

And with that I knocked him off his podium and set the poor bloke rolling about the room. That'd teach him to insult the great Bartimaeus by calling him a _human_.

The nerve! Some people just have no class.

**Yaaay! Chapter 3 up! Lemmie know what you guys think! :D**


	4. Artists

_Nathaniel _

Nathaniel 's arm quivered. It hurt from holding the pose so long. He stared at his our stretched arm, flexed his fingers, and watched the numb digits move numbly, stupidly.

Not for the first time the words died on his tongue and slowly, finally, he lowered his arm and sat down on his bed. He stared at his feet for a long while and simply sat there. Not thinking, just simply sitting.

He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. It had grown slightly shaggy in the past months but mirrored a boyish fashion in America, so he kept it.

"What am I doing?" Nathaniel asked no one in particular, feeling foolish. He growled at himself and grabbed a tin from under his pillow – similar to the one he had threatened to trap Bartimaeus in. He smiled briefly at the memory, and then frowned. He only enjoyed the memory for the dijin and felt a flush of embarrassment at his actions. What a prat he'd been. Of course, he could say it was for protection, at the time Bartimaeus had just learned his name but _still_.

It was this memory that finally decided him. Fingering the tobacco tin he squeezed his eyes shut and told him, _no matter what_, he was not going to use magic.

It had only been a few days previous that, with a prickling sensation – the kind only experienced when someone is being watched – that someone had scryed him. He wasn't sure who or how, law stated that after a magician was dead that their name was to be put back into the naming books and no demon was allowed to look for a person of that name until a new young magician took it. The stories were unclear, but the law was said to have passed after several magicians saw something they shouldn't have – something that was only for the eyes of the dead, and soon joined rank to keep the thing secret. The recorded deaths were always the same – insanity, hysteria and _always_ ended in a suicide made to look like a sacrifice or a reverse summoning. It was unclear what happened to the spirits who carried out the tasks, but they too were never seen again.

Nathaniel shuddered at the thought. Surely no one would be stupid enough to try to scry him then, he had though himself safe! The only other way to search for him, and to get around the rule, was to know his face and birth name. But no magician knew that and it still didn't change the repercussions of scrying upon the dead.

The young ex-magician fingered the tobacco tin in a somewhat nervous motion. Someone now knew he was alive. And whoever that someone was, if they were desperate enough to scry for dead it meant they were deadly serious. _Most likely making sure I really am dead… and once the truth is out…_ Nathaniel shook his head and forced himself to swallow, despite his dry throat.

It didn't matter. He had made up his mind. No magic. No matter how easy it would be to put up protective charms, or to summon another spirit…

_It was pure luck I survived the first time. If someone wants to kill me then fine._ At the very least he could make whatever poor spirit they sent job a little easier. Nathaniel shuddered to think what _he_ would have done, had he still been a magician, if he was so desperate to scry dead, and his dijin returned empty handed.

He couldn't help it, but now, whenever he thought of a spirit enduring a punishment, or the Shriveling Fire – he thought of what it'd be like if Bartimaeus was the one tormented and _he_ the tormentor.

Another shudder ran up his spine.

No. No matter how desperately his selfish, self-preserving mind screamed at him to protect himself from his unseen enemy, he would not. Could not. He could never go back to being his horrible magician-self and risk destroying the small amount of moral conduct he had left. He wouldn't do it.

"Simply moronic…" The pale boy muttered angrily to himself. With stumbling fingers, he cracked open the tobacco tin and pulled out a small rolled cigarette. He stared at it long while, and then touched it to his lips as one might do a pencil. For a long second he held it there. He was about to throw it back in the tin when his bedroom door flew open with a loud, obnoxious, _"HULLO!"_

In stepped a tall, muscular boy with shaggy blonde hair and a rather stupid grin on his pink lips. He wore grey trousers with matching suspenders that accented his silver eyes, a white button up shirt and a pair of bright, hideous yellow fishermen boots.

"Hello Brandon." Nathaniel said with a sigh, opening up the tin to deposit his unused cigarette. Brandon saw it and asked,

"Up fer a smoke are ya?" He crossed over to the bed, uninvited, and sat down next to Nathaniel . With a flick of his wrist he pulled out a lighter from his breast pocket, "Lemmie give ya a light."

"No thank you." Nathaniel dropped the tobacco into the tin and snapped it shut. "I don't smoke."

"Aw, ya don't have to be embarrassed – everyone smokes over here. I don't know how you Brit's are but you don't have to hide it! I saw it on yer lip a second ago."

"That… that was a foolish impulse. I only keep this tin for… sentimental reasons."

"I'm listening…" Clearly the blonde was suggesting Nathaniel to elaborate but the smaller boy just shook his head.

"Never mind." He said quickly, not about to tell Brandon he was a magician and kept it as a sort of token of his past life – what he'd never go back to. Trapping Bartimaeus in a tobacco tin was the first real threat he ever issued, the one that had spurred a horrible domino-like chain of events he wasn't about to repeat. Irritated of the reminder, Nathaniel demanded, "Why the bloody hell did you burst in here anyway!"

"Oh! That's another five points ta me, Brit! No proper American says 'bloody hell'!" Brandon laughed, taking pride in a private game he and Nathaniel 's other friends seemed to have taken to. Every time Nathaniel was frustrated and used a British term the boy who got him to do it got points; extra points if you could get him to swear. The boy with the most points got to captain Darrel's father's fishing boat when they next went out and the boy with the least was cabin boy. Nathaniel could care less as long as he didn't have to swab the deck. The only problem was that when it got close to one of their fishing days, the boys would hunt down Nathaniel and heckle him – it was all great fun, unless it was you who's skin they were getting under.

"I don't supposed you're here to up your numbers?" Nathaniel asked ruefully, hiding the tin back underneath his pillow.

"Naw, nothing like that – that was just an extra perk." Brandon smiled, flashing crooked white teeth, "I'm here to give you some medicine fer your hand."

"Oh. Well thank you, I guess." Nathaniel , more than a little surprised, took the small bag he was offered.

"Here, let me do it." Brandon said and flipped Nathaniel 's pale hand over where an angry, ugly red mark stretched across the palm. He dabbed at it with a cotton swab he pulled from the bag coated in a foul smelling lotion. "I don't have the slightest clue how you got a rope burn this bad – all you did yesterday was sketch and fish."

"Must've happened when we were hoisting sails." Nathaniel muttered, watching Brandon bandage it up. He felt guilty for lying but he wasn't about to tell his friend the whole reason his hand hurt was because he's grabbed an iron nail too quickly so he could chuck it at an enemy spirit. He was fairly certain his new friends would frown upon a magician in their midst, especially after the war. "By the way, how did you get in here? I was sure I'd locked the door."

"Oh you did." Brandon grinned, Nathaniel groaned.

"Oh come on! That's the third time I've had to fix that thing! If you simply _must_ break in why can't you just jimmy the lock!"

"First off, no one says 'jimmy' so that's another point and second, I didn't break your door this time – I just took it off the hinges."

"You what?" Nathaniel straightened up in an attempt to see past Brandon to the potentially ruined door. The second the blonde finished bandaging he snatched his hand back and walked over to the empty doorway. Sitting in the hall with a couple of screws and a screw driver sitting forlornly atop it was Nathaniel 's front door. "Well, I suppose it's an improvement." He sighed wearily; thinking of how many times the boys had simply kicked the door down. Normally he would have been infuriated with the property damage, and he had been the first time it happened. But his front door had been broken down and simply gone missing so many times in the past few months he now only saw it as a minor irritation. "I do hope you realize you're putting that back on before you go – Todd's beginning to make a fortune off your mischief and I'm starting to believe you're in cahoots."

Todd was Nathaniel 's landlord who lived just under his tiny apartment. Whenever the door was damaged or off its hinges Nathaniel would give him a shilling to fix it because he himself had no idea how to and refused to learn.

"Well, I wouldn't want to put the old man out of business… Ok! Ok!" Brandon raised his hands in defense, trying to shield himself from Nathaniel 's glare. "But only if you come to the tavern with me and the boys tonight."

"I'll just have to make do without a door then." Nathaniel said firmly and turned to go back in the bedroom, but Brandon caught him by the arm.

"Oh come on! You've been here for months and not _once_ have you come with us! We're beginning to think you don't want ta spend time with us!"

"So the secret's finally out is it?"

"Hilarious, Nat."

Nathaniel 's eyes flashed, "What did I say about calling me that?"

"That I should only call you that when we're alone…_at night_." Brandon replied in what he obviously though was a seductive, sexy tone. Nathaniel rolled his eyes and smacked his shoulder. "_Ow_." Brandon protested

"I'm serious." Nat growled.

"Jeez ok! Won't happen again, _Nathaniel _." Brandon held up his hands in defense as if to ask if that was ok.

Nathaniel nodded. "Better."

"You really have to tell me the story behind your little nickname phobia sometime, Brit. Ex-girlfriend trauma?" Nat opened him mouth to speak but Brandon slung his arm around the boy's thin shoulders and said, "So you're coming to the tavern."

"I already said-"

"Nope. This time you're not chickening out. I told Penny you were afraid of her cooking and that's why you don't come – if you don't go and at least have a slice of pie she's probably going to be up bawling all night."

"You're an arse, you know that?" Nathaniel growled and shoved him off. Despite his words he grabbed a coat off the couch and shoved a hat over his ears, "And I want that door up before we get back."

"Right, got it." Brandon nodded, shoving Nat out the door, grinning.

"How the hell did you take it off without me noticing anyway!"

"That, my friend, is a trade secret. Oh and by the way, that's another five points."

The tavern was small, miniscule even, but that may have just been an illusion created by the lack of standing room. The place was positively packed.

Waitresses scuttled back and forth carrying drinks while customers screamed and laughed and shared stories. The noise was deafening, the smell of liquor was almost as bad. Nathaniel had to resist the urge to cover his ears and nose, "_Why_ did I let you bring me here again?" he asked, almost gagging.

"Oh don't be such a baby." Brandon chided, shoving Nathaniel further into the tavern and over to a table huddled into a back corner sat. Several young men were seated around it causing a ruckus. When they caught sight of Nathaniel and Brandon they all gave a cheer and raised their beer glasses.

"I can't believe you actually got Brit to come, here!" It was Darrel who spoke, the fisherman's son. His cheeks were tinted red and his dark auburn locks hung limply about his face – Nathaniel thought it very clear the man was drunk.

"That I did." Brandon smirked, sliding in next to him, pulling Nathaniel with him. "You owe me six pieces fer that."

"Ha! You should've bet more Brandon – I never thought I'd see Natty in here!" A freckled boy crowed with glee as Darrel, grumbling, paid the coins.

"Of course, you dragged me here only for a bet." Nat griped and then turned to the spotted boy, "And what have I told you about calling me that _Tallulah_?"

Half the boys tried to choke back their laughter by snorting into their cups. Tallulah absolutely hated his name because it was a name for a cute little girl, not a six foot Viking like the boy turned out to be – the only reason no one called him anything other than his nickname 'Tal' was because everyone knew he'd smack them silly.

"Aw come on, we like your company a lot more than six measly coins, right Tally?" Brandon laughed.

"Don't make me hurt you." Tal growled at the blonde, slamming his hands on the table.

"Oh right, throw around your muscle why don't you? If you hate your bloody name so much then don't use those nicknames on me." Nat sniffed and ordered a drink from a passing waitress.

"You're lucky it's my policy not to hit girls." Tal growled and ruefully sat back in his seat, taking a big swig of beer.

Before Nathaniel had a chance to retort and say something that might get him hurt, Todd, another hulk almost as big as Tal, cut in, "Why is it you hate that nickname so much anyway, Brit? It's not like it's a… pfft… a _girl's_ name." He quickly ducked as Tal took a swipe at him and burst out laughing.

"Stow it, Todd!" Tal screamed and grabbed him by the neck. Before the two had a chance to really get at it and get everyone else thrown out of the bar, Brandon leapt on the chance to get some answers.

"Yeah, England, why don't you come off it and tell us all about the little lady you left behind!"

"Lady friend? What lady friend?" Tal asked, successfully distracted.

"There was no lady." Nathaniel growled shooting Brandon a look and folding his hands on the table in front of him, "I simply don't like being call 'Nat' or 'Natty', it's juvenile."

"Oh _please_," Darrel guffawed, "Like 'Brit' or 'England' are perfectly proper names fer a gentleman?"

"I rather like 'Brit'." Brandon said sheepishly, hoping Nathaniel wouldn't soon ban that nickname too.

Nathaniel simply shrugged, "Those don't bother me."

"Come on, there has to be someone attached to one of 'em then. Someone ruined that nickname for you right? A bad breakup maybe? I know I can never be 'Brandy' again." Brandon made a face, remembering some unpleasant memory.

"Well that's a real shame; I rather like 'Brandy'." Nathaniel grinned. Just then the waitress dropped off his drink and gave him a distraction. He took a sip and said, "Better than expected."

"Bet- _better than expected_!" Todd blurted, it was his family who ran the local brewery. "Well off course it's good, you sod! What did you think it'd be like!"

"Oh please, he's _British_, I bet he's never had ale – don't let him get us off topic!" Brandon chided Todd.

"Oh, right."

"Come on, you never tell us anything. You must've left some sweetie, some girl, back in England right?" Brandon pushed, set on the idea that only a girl could turn someone from a nickname.

"Again, there was no girl. If you simply _must _know an old friend called me that and I rather not have anyone else doing the same. Alright?" With a sigh Nathaniel took another swig of his drink, his thoughts briefly lingered on the face of a smiling Egyptian boy.

"Oh I see." Darrel hiccupped; he'd downed another pint and was practically falling out his seat, "This _friend_ a guy you were screwing, right?"

Nathaniel chocked on his ale. He raised a hand to his mouth, coughing violently, spraying the table with beer. Did they think he actually… with _Bartimaeus_?

"Yeah, actually that makes a lot of since, it does." Brandon mused.

_No it doesn't! _Nathaniel frantically tried to control his coughing fit; he'd taken about half the glass down the wrong pipe. Much to his horror the other boys smiled and started to ruffle his hair and playfully punch him. Todd laughed "_Ha!_ So _that's_ why you won't take Penny on a proper date, eh? Not you're 'type'!" and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Nathaniel shoved the others boys back, and shrieked, "That's _NOT IT!_" slamming his hands down on the table.

But the other boys were all smiles and suggestive eyebrow raises now.

"Aw you don't have nothing to be embarrassed about." Darrel said.

"I bet it's the guy you're always drawing, right? That colored kid?" Said Todd and a round of laugher and playful punches went off when Nathaniel blushed heavily.

He wasn't _always_ drawing Bartimaeus, was he?

"You must miss him a lot then, huh?" Brandon smirked, resting his smug face in the cup of his hand.

"I've got a question." Tal was grinning mischievously, obviously out for revenge. "Who was the girl?"

"Pfft, it'd _have_ to be Nathaniel right? You saw the drawings!" Todd giggled.

Nathaniel felt his ears burn, "I already told you gits, it's _not like that!_"

"Oh! He said 'gits'! That a point ta me!"

"Ooh, if he's resorting ta British he _must've _been the girl!" Tal laughed.

"Oh _buggar off_ you arse!" Nathaniel yelled, stomping in foot. He blushed harder and swore again when the boys all laughed again and counted off the points they'd earned.

Knowing the boys would be on him about this the rest of the night; Nathaniel yelled a couple more choice swears and stormed out the tavern door into the chill night air. He wrapped his coat tighter about himself and muttered to himself, "Like I'd _ever_ touch that infuriating spirit!"

He was mumbling angrily now, protesting everything the boys had said. He hardly noticed when he passed the threshold of his apartment, the door still sitting sadly outside.

"And I'm _not_ always drawing him!" Nathaniel threw his coat on the couch with an angry huff and plunked himself down next to it, crossing his arms, a deep, upset 'V' etched between his brows. His expression softened briefly to one of puzzlement as he realized he was sitting on something. Shifting, he pulled out the offending object; a spiral bound, battered green sketchbook. He felt his heart thump briefly and he flipped the book open.

A picture of Kitty. He sighed with relief and flipped to another page – a landscape. "Hmph. I bet I only have one stupid drawing of him anyway, those arseholes…" Nathaniel found an unexpected relief filling him, he'd actually been afraid of what he'd find.

Chuckling at the absurdity of the notion he flipped another page and found a well detailed sketch of an Egyptian boy lounging. He frowned. _Well, that's just one._ Nathaniel thought and hurriedly flipped the page.

This time it was a picture of a gargoyle that Nathaniel quickly skimmed past. The next of the boy again, two more, three. Nathaniel started frantically scanning the drawings, some of London and people he knew, like Kitty, but most of the Egyptian form Bartimaeus favored or various other guises. The gargoyle appeared several times, a noble bird, similar to a hawk, a snake headed man, a beautiful maiden trapped within a bubble and then a buffalo tapped within the same thing. After all the fantastic forms there came disturbing images that Nathaniel couldn't remember drawing, ones that left a pang in his hearth and horrible guilt seized his throat. A gimp frog, a puddle of slime…

Nathaniel threw the sketchbook away from him in horror. It landed with a horrible crash in the tiny kitchenette directly opposite his couch.

Had he really been drawing Bartimaeus that much? Did he really feel that guilty? Or worse – did he really miss the spirit _that_ much?

Nathaniel shook his head numbly and made his way past his bed room and into the tiny bathroom. He stripped and stepped in to the shower letting the hot, steamy water run over him and stared at the drain.

He watched the water drain at his feet and willed his memories to go with it.

**I really should be busy having a life right now buuuuut… don't really see you guys complaining :P Hope ya'll liked it! Please review if ya did! :D**


	5. Hope

**Thank you all for your continued support! I'm glad people like this and think it's in character – I was afraid I was making Nathaniel too little/too much snobbyness, there is such a fine line with him, and I was hoping Barty wasn't picking up too much of my own twisted humor instead of his own, so I'm glad the last chapter got such nice comments! I love you guys! Oh, and ****SakuNaru-Chan**** thanks for pointing out the NathaniAL thing – I have auto spell-check so I was all 'Oh mighty and wise computer, surely you know how to spell things!' I suppose I should have learned my lesson way back when it misspelled my own name, *sigh* when will I learn? Anyway, I went back and fixed it – thanks so much for pointing it out! :D**

_Bartimaeus_

I could hardly contain myself. I felt giddy and light with a terrible joy and energy – much like the first time I was summoned (except this time I didn't have endless fields to plow to put a damper on my mood).

I spent a few minutes running circles around the city to kill time – but sadly, with my new found excitement, I'd only killed about an hour by the time I'd completed my ninth cycle of the city (I must say I felt slightly bad for the humans who got in my way – at the speed I was going I'm pretty sure they went flying and landed dazed on their arses, not that I stayed around to check).

I was beginning to drive myself a bit mad. I could hardly wait to tell Kitty the news, she'd been even worse off than me after Natty went and off-ed himself (not that I was ever really distraught about it or anything. That business back at the pyramid and all that wet stuff on my face in the study? Why it must've been sweat or maybe something caught in my eye – who knows? My guises are incredibly realistic – I can't be held accountable for what they do). She'd have a heart attack when she found out. She'd definitely give him a good slapping for breaking his promise, which I'd love to see. But mostly, I just wanted someone who'd be excited with me dammit. I felt like a kid in a candy store and if I didn't get my damn candy soon I was sure I'd explode.

Unfortunately, Kitty was stuck with those stupid magicians for the rest of the day. I could've burst back in there if I wanted to but after that business of accidentally revealing Nat's name and that thing that got caught in my eye or whatever weird little fluke that happened in the study afterward dissuaded me. (I wasn't crying. First off dijins _can't _cry – I don't care what stupidity Nathaniel infected me with he couldn't change my basic nature! Could he? I mean my face was wet… wait! What am I saying? Those were _not _tears! Oh, never mind! Why are you here reading this! Go back to the story! Get out of here!) So I sat, paced and flew circled all over Whitehall. By the time Kitty got out I was practically frothing at the mouth.

"Kitty!" I cried and rushed over to her, ready to burst with my news. But as I drew closer something stopped me, her eyes were red and puffy and she looked distraught. "What's wrong? Are you–"

I didn't get to finish. My world exploded in pain for a flicker of a second, dazing me. I put a hand to my cheek (again, on my face you dolts) and stared at her, shocked, gently touching the hot hand shaped mark she'd left there.

"How _could_ you Bartimaeus? _Why _would you do that!"

"Wait, what are–" I hadn't the foggiest idea why she'd hit me.

"You think I don't miss him too, _huh_! You think I don't hurt too! How _could_ you? Saying all that stuff and then… just… just _leaving _me! Do you know what they _said_ when you left? What they asked me? Why would you dig up all that pain? _Huh_?" She looked like she was about to cry, I made a move to try and comfort her but she threw a hand up. "_Don't_. Just _don't_."

"But Kitty, you don't understand! Nathaniel's _alive! _I saw–"

"_I SAID DON'T!_"

She took a moment to compose herself. No sooner than her misty eyes cleared was it replaced with the hardened glint I knew so well. "I know it hurts Bartimaeus. Nathaniel is _dead_. He's not coming back. You were _there_! So _don't tell me_ he's alive! You have to move on. _I_ have to move on. I have a _life_, Bartimaeus. I've lost _a lot_ of friends these past few years but I can't dwell on it – if I did it'd destroy me. I'm not like you; I don't have endless years to reflect. I have only another sixty or so years at best. I can't spend 2,000 years mourning Nathaniel like you did Ptolemy! Now you can stay trapped in your regret and loss but I'm going to move forward. Nathaniel wouldn't have wanted us wailing over him, and if you have any sense in your head I suggest you follow my example."

And then she _did_ burst out in tears. She pushed past me and hurried away until the crowded London streets swallowed her up and stole her from my vision leaving me utterly dumbfounded.

Suffice to say her little outburst definitely killed my buzz. I didn't understand it. _Why_ didn't she believe me? _Why_ wouldn't she let me explain?

Her harsh, grief stricken speech had shocked me. Made me doubt what I'd seen in the crystal. Made me believe I was hallucinating and for one horrible moment I was returned to a moment over two thousand years ago. When Ptolemy died, I saw him everywhere. I created a secure bubble of only him as I drifted through the Other Place, memorizing every detail – it was how I'd perfected my guise of him in the first place.

But Nathaniel… I didn't have a century cool down to accept it like I did with Ptolemy. Maybe I'd created a variation of a bubble of Nathaniel on the human plane. Maybe I was beginning to hallucinate to cope. I felt a horrible churning in my gut at the idea. My world seemed to teeter and twist before my eyes making me feel slightly sick. I didn't know what to believe. Wasn't sure I could trust my own eyes.

I clenched my teeth. I couldn't just give up. Hallucination or no, even if the chance was only one in a million, I'd scour the whole damn planet until I had irrefutable proof that Nathaniel was alive… or dead.

I felt that stupid wetness on my face once more and was really beginning to hate Nathaniel for it. If the bloke was really alive I'd have to kill him. Enabling me to cry was probably the worst thing he'd ever done to me.


	6. Lessons

**_Aw_, you guys! Your reviews are so happy :D**

_Nathaniel_

"Ok. Now, I want you to release the clutch. No, the clutch. The _clu_- JESUS, RIGHT! TURN RIGHT! NO! NO NO _NO!_ _BREAK!_!"

The car screeched to a halt mere inches from a proud sycamore tree. The smell of burning rubber hung around the white, slightly rusted old Junker. Nathaniel sat at the wheel, eyes wide, knuckles white, panting. He shakily turned to look at his companion, Brandon, equally wide eyed, white knuckled. Then the two of them looked back to the offending tree, their brains slowly processing just how close they had come to either the tree or one of them smashing through the windshield.

It took a couple more second before the boys stopped shaking. A few more after that before Brandon spoke, eyebrows raised, in a slightly bland voice, "Not bad for a first try. We just have to work on stopping. And starting. And driving as a whole."

"Not bad?" Nathaniel's voice was quiet, shock still lingering. He exploded. "_NOT BLOODY BAD? _I _TOLD _YOU I COULDN'T DRIVE! WHY IN GODS NAME WOULD YOU PUT _ME_ IN THE DRIVERS SEAT! IN A _CLUTCH CAR!" _He viscously jiggled the offending object sitting between the two battered leather seats for emphasis.

"Aw Nat-_haniel_," Brandon quickly amended by coughing. "We're fine. Let's just try it again, gently this time."

If looks could kill, Nat would've been short one passenger, "Again!" He hissed, "You want me to try _again_. Have you gone daft! Do you not _see _the bloody tree?"

"First. We didn't _hit_ the 'bloody' tree," Brandon made air quotations at 'bloody' and held up a finger for emphasis, "Second," two fingers now, "Every man needs to know how to drive, this isn't Britain. And thirdly, I believe that's another 11 points. Good swearing there, _mate_."

"_POINTS? That's _what you're worried about!"

"Ok, now set the stick in reverse and get ready – it's a clutch, the car is going to jump forward, but I'm sure we still have enough space before the tree."

"Absolutely not!"

"Nathaniel…"

The pale teen looked wildly at his friend, almost pleadingly. Brandon smiled in sympathy but made no move to take the driver's seat. Nathaniel groaned something foul and said, "When we die, you stay the hell away from my bloody funeral."

"That a' boy!" Brandon cheered.

Nathaniel took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a split second, opened them and pulled on the clutch. Slowly, he hit the gas. The car lurched forward violently, and for one sickening second he thought the tree was going to run them through, but then they were going backwards, and Nat had to turn his head to see where they were going. With a bit of maneuvering they were back on the road.

"There! See? Piece o' cake!" The blonde cheered, smacking Nathaniel on the back. The pale teen jumped in surprise and the car swerved accordingly.

"Don't _do _that." Nat hissed, glaring at the trouble maker, who simply shrugged.

"Aw, you're fine. Look! No more trees!"

True to his words, the trees stayed out of the vehicle's general vicinity, despite this, Nathaniel's mood didn't brighten. It wasn't long before a looming tension settled uncomfortably about the car.

The two went along for another twenty or so minutes like this while Brandon tried to lighten the mood and Nathaniel shot him down with cynicism. It was when they nearly crashed for the second time in a row that Nat slammed his delicate hands down on the steering wheel and complained, "Godammit! Are you sure this bleeding thing is safe!" He smacked his ear then to alleviate a ringing in his ears, "The damn noise is giving me a headache and I'm fairly certain I'm getting lead poisoning."

"Jeez, Brit, you're such a pansy! It's a car! Deal with it!" Brandon shot a sideways glance at Nat then, "And calm down, we're in a _car_, there's no lead to be had."

"Oh really? Not in the paint or framework, eh? Then tell me what this stupid thing is made out of because I'd love to know."

"I don't know, steel? Iron? Who cares? You're being more of a prick than usual, England and I'm fairly certain it's not the car." The blonde gave Nat a knowing look which he deflected with:

"How do you know that? The longer I sit in this damn thing the worse I feel!" To emphasis this Nathaniel wiped a bit a sweat off his brow. He was beginning to sweat profusely and feel sick despite the windows being rolled all the way down. He continued angrily, "I swear it's going to kill me – it's tried at least four times now."

"Well, I'd say about six or seven, actually. It depends if you count almost hitting Penny's aunt. Didn't know the broad could move that fast." He laughed, shaking his head at the memory of the fat woman screaming for her life and diving into a ditch off the side of the road.

"If _someone_ hadn't set me loose on the town the first place..." Nathaniel growled and pitched his voice deep, as if mocking Brandon's baritone, "Yes, I think we'll just have a jolly ol' time and go driving through town, never bother _I've never driven before_."

"Hey, that was actually pretty good. Sounds like me." Brandon perked up with a chuckle, he caught Nathaniel's eye and rolled his own. "Fine, let's get you out of the thing. We've been in her for well over an hour anyway. Hang on… umm… _there_, pull off at that tree and park next to it. Don't give me that look, it's a few feet off road, you'll live."

They did live, but barely. The wheel caught on a patch of dirt and the car swerved violently off road, landing them in a bush. While the two remained unharmed within the car, it certainly did nothing to improve Nathaniel's mood.

"I BLOODY WELL _TOLD _YOU!" He screeched, pushing violently against his car door. The bush seemed to have a vendetta against letting him out. Brandon, rolling his eyes, finally pulled him out the passenger side door.

"Geez, calm down." He soothed, yanking the dark haired boy out by the armpits. He only pulled Nathaniel halfway out before he let gravity claim Nat and the smaller boy fell to the ground with a grunt, ignoring his companion's displeasure Brandon said cheerily, "There we are!" With a quick glance around, he commented, "Hey, this looks like a great spot for a bit of lunch!"

Nathaniel pulled himself up, mumbling and swearing. He looked around at the grassy field they landed in. There was a clearing not too far from the car, Brandon had already pulled a wicker basket out of the trunk and was headed towards it. He followed.

Brandon pulled out a white, slightly tattered blanket and spread it on the ground. He then sat down and rifled through the basket. Nathaniel was busy looking about the clearing when something smacked him in the face; he barely managed to catch it, a peanut butter sandwich, and glared at Brandon who patted the spot next to him, clearly indicting Nat to sit down.

He did. The two ate in silent for a few minutes, before Brandon finally broke it, "While I know your driving is God awful, I doubt that's what's got your feathers in a bunch. What are you going on about? I hope it's not your door, because I was going to fix it – _I swear_ – but then I got drunk and passed out at the bar and I had to pick you up this morning…"

"It's not the door." Nathaniel said, briefly picturing his poor front door sitting forlornly outside his apartment. Although he said it with a mouth full of peanut butter and it came out a little bit muffled, Brandon seemed to understand, nodding to himself.

"Well, what then? Is it about last night? I swear we were only joking-"

"No, not that. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"No. Never mind." Nat moodily turned away but Brandon reached across the small space separating them and smacked him, "_OW!_" Nathaniel grabbed his head and leaned away from his friend, "What was that for!"

"Cut that out you prick!" The blonde scolded.

Nathaniel sighed, "Look, I realize that's supposed to be an insult, but I for the life of me have no idea what that word _means_." He made a squawk of protest when Brandon thumped him again.

"Doesn't matter, you're still acting like one." His friend informed him.

"How?"

"Look, I don't know how it works in England, or anywhere else for that matter. All I know is that you've been here –what- three? four? months and you don't even trust me enough to tell me what's buggin you? Do you really value our friendship so little? You think I tell every random guy I meet on the street what I've told you? Is that what you think? I hand my life story out to strangers? I trust you, Brit. Why don't you trust me? Why are you such a prick, huh?"

"You're really going to have to tell me what that means."

"_Nathaniel,_ be serious."

"Ok! Fine. I'm _sorry_, it's just…" Nathaniel stared at his hands for a moment, to his half eaten sandwich and the smear of peanut butter under him nails, and then looked back up at Brandon, "I'm a little bit new to this. I've never really had friends before. If I told anyone anything there was always some risk of it circling back and getting me killed."

"I assure you I won't kill you. By the way where the hell did you live? The ghettos?"

"Worse. _Politics_. But that's not important."

"Right, whatever – _not important." _He sighed, "So what's up then?"

"It's just… I've just been thinking is all."

"About…?"

Nathaniel's cold, blue eyes narrowed, calculating, trying to decided whether or not to speak. Finally, in a breathless, hurried voice he said, "If I talk to you, you've got to promise me you will _never _breathe a _word _of it to _anyone_." His voice had dropped to a deadly whisper, "If you dare tell anyone-"

"Whoa! Whoa!" Brandon threw his hands up, "Doom and gloom, knock off the drama over there! I'm not telling _anyone_, alright?"

"Right." Nathaniel sighed moodily, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, really. I'm just nervous. It's personal, and I've never talked to anyone before – well about _anything _really, especially not the personal stuff."

"Hey, look, if you don't want to talk about it I won't make you."

"No, no. If I have to keep this bottled up one more day, I might well kill myself. Besides, I actually need a second opinion." He tried for a smile there, but it came out more as a grimace. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, "It's… just last night got me thinking."

"About?"

"I suppose it's a little about what you blokes were going on about…" Nat said sheepishly, turning slightly red.

Brandon caught the insinuation immediately. "Is it about that friend of yours? The guy you're always drawing?" He asked gently, not prodding, letting Nat know he could stop at any time. The raven haird boy nervously twisted his white fingers and took another deep breath.

He exhaled, "Yeah."

Brandon didn't say anything, he didn't have to. With the sudden appearance of someone who would listen, an outlet to voice all the confusing thoughts that had been building up over the months, it felt like a damn bursting. Nathaniel found him spilling his most secret thoughts in an edited version of his life since he met a certain dijin. His hand hardly left his black locks the whole time, he kept repeatedly trailing it through his hair, flustered, confused and not at all sure what he was saying or what it meant.

He felt like he was barring hi soul, he felt exposed, weak and yet he never felt more liberated or safe than in the few minutes it took for him to tell Brandon his story. "…and I keep drawing him – I didn't even know I was doing it, subconscious I guess. Is that normal? It can't be normal, can it? I mean we hated each other! Still hate each other! He's probably dancing on my grave back in England and I… I just… _I don't understand it! _It's so _frustrating_! Why do I keep thinking about that d-_servant_? There was no friendship, or connection or _anything. _It was just a master-servant relationship; I treated him _horribly_ – tormented him even!"

Brandon was rubbing his chin gently, staring at the ground. "It's…" He hesitated, and then looked at Nathaniel, "It's not too strange is it? To think about him? You'd never had a friend before – he was the first person you ever cared about or trusted as one right?"

"Wha- _cared?_ Were you not _listening_? I –"

"Of course I was listening, Nathaniel. Were _you?_" His deep blue eyes seemed to penetrate straight to the heart of the matter, and Nat found himself shifting uncomfortably.

"Yes, well. I was there wasn't I?" Nat muttered.

"And that's precisely why you don't get it." Brandon sighed, exasperated, "You just don't get it do you? Do you really think any slave would do that much for his master if he didn't care for him? And you said he always insulted you – why would you take that if he was just a servant? If you didn't care for him?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, "You know, Darren's father used to be a slave – it's why they ran away to America in the first place. You know he's crippled right?" Nathaniel nodded, Brandon licked him lips, sweat beading on his brow and leaned in towards Nat, "_Beaten._ Near death, he was – just for calling his master 'heartless' – and that was after the ass had left him and his pregnant wife to sleep out in a beaten up shed during winter, the really heavy snow-type winter, for over a _week_."

Nathaniel looked appalled, "But I would _never-_"

"Hey, I know you wouldn't." He held up his hands defensively, giving Nat some space, "But that's just what I mean. You hear stories here in the states, the _real_ stories behind those kinds of relationships. And from what you told me, you didn't really _have _that type of relationship with – ah, _what _is his name?"

"Bartimaeus." Nathaniel answered primly.

Brandon smiled, "See, that's what I mean. Darrel's dad was slave to that bastard _twenty_ years and not _once_ did he ever hear his real name from those lips. I doubt the stubborn ass even knew it. Sure, you were a jerk to Bart, but you were raised thinking you were better than people – most people, when they have that kind of power over someone – well, it goes to their heads. I say you got off fairly well. Besides, who doesn't abuse their friend every once and a while?" To demonstrate this Brandon thumped Nat again.

"_OW!_ Stop that!" But despite the swipe, Nathaniel was already feeling much better. While there were some bits he wasn't so sure about, he was glad to know his reaction wasn't odd – he'd begun to think himself insane. "So, you'd say it's _normal _then? That I'm thinking about him so much?"

"Sure? Why not – you miss the guy don't you?" Brandon shrugged, "Who knows, maybe you even miss him as _more_ than a friend – it would certainly explain the drawings."

Nat's face darkened and he fought to keep his voice pleasant, "Look, I appreciate your input but please be serious. I'll leave and take the bloody car with me if you keep poking fun at me."

"I _am_ being serious. Come on, Brit. Tell me, right here right now – who was your first love?"

"_What!_ Where did _that_ come from?"

"Out with it – who was it?"

"Uh… well…" Nathaniel desperately wracked his brain, feeling like he was about to fail a quiz and blurted, "There was a woman I worked with I thought was fairly attractive…"

"_BZZZT!_" Brandon made a buzzer noise and crossed his arms in a big 'X', "Sorry, wrong answer, Brit. We were looking for _first love_, not first broad you made a pass at."

"Look, I already told you I had very little time to myself in my line of work. What else do you want me to say?" Nat shot back. "That I've slept with hundreds of women?"

"Does that mean you've never actually been in love then? Never truly fallen for someone? Never kissed?"

"Well, I…" Nathaniel blushed.

"So how do you know you don't miss that guy in a _special _way?"

"That's _disgusting! _I –"

"Is it? Tell me, just how many people have you found attractive?"

"I'm not sure, I –"

"I want a _number_ Brit."

"Maybe two or so?"

"Alright, good we're getting somewhere. Now who's your ideal fuck?"

"_EXCUSE ME?"_

"Sex, Brit. If you could have anyone – man or woman, what'd they be like?"

"Obviously I'd have a woman – what kind of question is that! I'm not–"

"Ok. A woman. Details. Blonde hair? Red? Aburn? Big tits? Small ones? A little bit of baby fat or stick thin? Smart or just plain stupid? What?"

Nathaniel's head was spinning; he hadn't the foggiest idea what Brandon was going on about. "Why the hell are you asking all this? Do you really think I've planned it all out?"

"Actually yes, England. I do." Brandon grabbed Nat by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye, "You wanna know my ideal woman? Small, a little pudgy, not the prettiest thing but has a big attitude to make up for it, freckles, and lots of them, with thick red hair, always knows how to keep me entertained. Big breasts would be nice but I won't kid myself but she'd have the prettiest eyes in the whole world and a silky smooth voice all for me. _That_ is how you describe your ideal woman. Now you try."

"Uh… well… I, don't know? Pretty I guess? And, er…Oh _why_ am I even going along with this! It's embarrassing and completely _stupid_." Nat slapped Brandon hands away and crossed his arms.

"Don't you see Brit? You said it yourself, you grew up sheltered. Just because you thought one girl was pretty doesn't mean you prefer them – you just proved you don't think about them much."

"So _what?_ You think I could describe my ideal _man_!" Nathaniel sneered trying to hide how horrified by the idea he was and turning slightly red in the face.

"No. I think you're hopeless in that department. You're like a fucking puppy, you have zero sex appeal whatsoever and your awareness for the sexiness of others is even less than that. I mean, you're 19 years old and you haven't ever had a first love – haven't had a sexy thought in your entire damn life so how the hell do you know what you like? How are you so sure this Bart guy you miss so much is just a friend? How are you so sure you like women?"

Nathaniel exploded, "Are you _kidding me? Bartimaeus! _What the bloody hell kind of question is that! I'm a _boy_ aren't I?"

"Well yeah, and?"

Nathaniel stared at Brandon like he'd grown a second head, "You're _messed up_! Obviously, I'm attracted to women and not that…that… _servant! _Boys are attracted to girls. END. OF. DISSCUSSION." He was panting by the end of it and fell back on the blanket in a huff.

"And who made that rule, huh?" Brandon sighed, lying down next to Nat. They watched the cloud for a few seconds and Brandon said gently, "Look, Brit, I'm not trying to make fun of you but I seriously think you need to go walk around town tonight, forget every little social rule you ever stuffed into your stupid head and just let your trousers do the talking. I know that you were probably taught to be the perfect 'English gentlemen' but with your sheltered little life you probably never had the chance to experiment. Isn't that what youth's for? You owe it to yourself to figure this out."

Brandon let his words sink in for a minute or two. The two of them simply watched the clouds and the sky as it started to change from blue, to pink, to a brilliant orange. Twilight was upon them, the stars just beginning to poke out when Brandon shifted.

He sat up, his golden locks ruffling in a light breeze that was just beginning to blow. He then slapped Nat on the thigh and got to his feet with a grunt, "Come on, let's go back, it's getting dark." He bent down and whispered gently in Nat's ear, "Oh, and I'll be driving back. I think it's safe to say you'd drive us into the broad side of the barn." He paused, "Or off a cliff."

Nathaniel took a swipe at him, but he jumped back with a laugh, out of the pale boy's reach. Nat growled, "Get stuffed, you arse! Who's the one who thought teaching me to drive was a good idea in the first place?"

"Terrible mistake, I apologize. I didn't realize how _horribly_ you'd mess it up." With that Brandon took off laughing down the hill with Nathaniel hot on his heels.

It was long after sundown before the boys made it back to town. Brandon dropped Nathaniel outside his apartment with some excuse, his father wanted him to help in the shop or something – Nathaniel wasn't really listening, before he left.

Nat watched the car go for a minute before he turned to go towards the rickety staircase that lead to his house. He paused and cast a furtive glance in the direction Brandon left. With a sigh Nathaniel walked around the building to a back alley that faced the town square. Never one to skip an assignment, he positioned himself against the cold cement wall and watched the people milling around the square.

"Ridiculous…" Nathaniel muttered as he watched people come and go. No one really popped out to him, he didn't have the slightest opinion about any of the people there. He briefly questioned Brandon's sanity – not entirely sure how this 'experiment' could help anything. The only thing it succeeded in doing so far was make the already irritated boy's mood fouler.

He spent a few minutes watching the fishmonger and his son, Darren, with mixed feelings. He felt a slight pity as he watched the crippled man and debated going over to assist them in cleaning up their stand – but Darren was twice the man Nathaniel was in terms of strength and he doubted he could really assist, so he merely watched.

Penny, the flame haired sister of Todd and the tavern's cook walked past him. She caught sight of Nat and turned around. A heated exchange followed in which Nathaniel had to defend himself, that _no_, he wasn't afraid of her cooking, he just didn't like going to the rowdy pub. It was nothing against her. She finally seemed to accept it and vowed that she'd get Brandon for making a fool out of her. She then told Nathaniel to come by during the lunch hour, "The tavern's a lot less rowdy when all the trouble makers are working, you know? Don't be a stranger."

Nathaniel nodded, "I'll keep that in mind."

And with a small wave he watched he hurry off towards the tavern with a sigh. He supposed she was attractive, but it was very hard for him to tell if he thought it because he _actually _thought she was pretty or because he _wanted_ to think that of her.

Nathaniel had been out in the square for over a half hour when someone finally caught his eye. There was a small figure in a dark brown jacket and jeans on the far side of the square walking alongside several other people he'd never seen before. A ship carrying new refugees or something must have arrived and this wouldn't have interested Nathaniel if not for the peculiar sense of familiarity emanating from that particular individual. He'd met that boy, somewhere… A strange aura seemed to be coming off the individual and, desperate to get a clear look, Nathaniel half stepped away from the wall and into the lighting of the square. Squinting, he could make out dark hair, tanned skin…

At that precise moment the figure looked up and directly towards where Nathaniel was standing.

With a gasp he jumped back into the shadows and, hopefully, out of the boy's line of sight.

He'd know those bright, golden eyes anywhere. _Bartimaeus! _Nathaniel thought wildly, pressing himself into the wall, trying to make himself invisible. _What is he doing here!_

The refugees were already about halfway across the square; Nathaniel closed his eyes and prayed that the dijin didn't see him.

His prayers went unanswered.


	7. Reunion

**Haha, your reviews made me laugh. I agree with you guys that Nat is scary behind a wheel (Don't worry Bart-chan, it 'probably' won't happen again)- i can relate too peckforever, actually i think my drivings even worse than his, cuz im always singing and dancing when i drive. It's quite scary actually ^^; I'm glad to hear people actually like Brandon - im always so scared when i add an OC, some people get scary about their fandoms 0_o Wow, SakuNaru-Chan i can't believe you picked up on that. I actually almost made Brandon gay as a joke but i figured people would get pissed if he started flirting with Nat (cuz he flirts with EVERYONE) and played for that team so i made 'em straight, glad to know someone would've supported them if i went with a crazy unrequited love. Sadly this is a Nat/Bart fic so no lovin for Brandon. Maybe some other time, I might give him Penny but that would probably be out of pity and no one likes pity love so... probably not ^^;**

**Oh, last thing, wildkurofang since you loved the previous cliffie so much i decided to make another one, just for you. Enjoy 3**

_Bartimaeus_

I stepped away from the ship and the grungy passengers as soon as we docked. After spending a week on that stupid vessel with all those moronic human I swear I almost killed myself. (Not that I had the choice of flying myself. That stupid scrying dijin had forgotten to tell me where Nathaniel was – if I hadn't managed to worm a few answers out of one of Britain's dock masters using the brief description of the boat I'd seen the boy on I probably would have never found out where he'd gone. Lucky for me, Nathaniel seemed to have made an impression on the dock master and, luckier still, a boat had been leaving to the exact same town he'd gone later that night.)

I took a look around the small, cobblestone town square. I couldn't imagine that pompous magician hiding away in such a quaint town.

I was busy checking out the scenery when I got the distinct impression someone was watching me (horrible feeling, like bugs running up and down the spine – not that I had a spine, but you get the idea). My head jerked up and I found myself staring into a pair of very familiar blue eyes. They were cold, calculating and, oddly, if I'm not mistaken, a hint of fear flitted through them. _Nathaniel_. (That's right you damn child, you better fear the almighty Bartimaeus!)

I know this is probably the part where I should have gone running across the square and leapt in to his arms or something stupid like that. I know this is probably the part where I'm supposed to confess my undying love or something, what with Nathaniel (I suppose) saving my life out of some good will and me having thought of him every single day since his 'death' (Which was now two hundred forty two days prior). But, I'm sorry, that's just not my style.

I'd like to say I had some epitome that he was the one for me suddenly, and that I'd throw myself off a bridge just for him (Actually, I would probably do that since it wouldn't really do anything to me. Maybe a better analogy would be to sit in silver or iron? But that's also a terrible idea – worse really, because it would mean pain_. Voluntarily_ pain. For _Nathaniel._)As much as I do love theatrics, I just didn't feel it. I really had no idea what this boy was – is – to me, and frankly I don't really want to know. At least not now, perhaps later when I have more time to think. Right now I have something much more pressing to attend, like greeting him for one.

"_YOU!_" I bellowed, my voice easily carrying across the square, "You no good, atrocious, thick headed, vile little _CHILD!_" Classy, I know. And wait, there's more. "WHY in the name of _Nouda_ aren't you _dead_! Maimed at the very _least!_"

I may have neglected to say that at this point, I'd stormed across the square and pinned him against the far end cement wall he'd been hiding against. (More like cowering. Like I wouldn't have spotted him there. Childish.)

Nathaniel pressed himself as far into the wall as possible, like it would swallow him up and save him from me. He swallowed thickly, "I know you're probably confused as to how I'm still alive…"

"Yer darn right I am! Shouldn't you be rolling in your grave? Pushing up daisies?"

"Well if you'll give me a moment to-"

"Sleeping the eternal sleep? Game over?"

"-explain I can-"

"Oh, explain? _Explain._ Explain why you're _not_ worm meal? Not waltzing down some long dark tunnel?"

"Yes, if you'll only-"

"Well I'd love to hear it. We'll see if you can even remotely come up with an excuse worth hearing, because I doubt-"

"_WILL YOU SHUT UP?_" I blinked; the boy had gone positively red in the face to be heard over me. I hadn't realized I was shouting – screaming really. "I cannot believe I forgot how annoying you dijin are."

"Wh- _annoying!_" I spluttered, anger firing up, "Of all the – that's the first thing you have for me, eh? No 'how are you' or pleasantries? Bam! Insults off the bat? Two can play at that, boy, I-"

"_Don't you start that again_." He growled.

I almost laughed in his face. "Excuse me, was that an _order_? Are you actually so delusional that you think-"

"Not an order, no, a suggestion." He growled, "If you ever want my 'excuse' you'd better shut your gob."

I opened my mouth to come up with some witty retort (of which I have an endless supply), shut it, and nodded. (Again, please note I was only quiet because I was curious – not that I lacked a witty comment. I mean come on, the kid was practically his own stand-up routine in looks alone, how could I _not_ have something to fire off?)

"Good." He sighed, running a hand through his hair (for once I actually approved. The damn hair was no longer a wild mane nor that disgusting military crop. Just a regular boy's cut, a little shaggy, but good – at least as good as the relationship between Natty and his hair would ever get). I recognized that pompous preening habit of his – still _such_ a magician. "Look, Bartimaeus, this isn't really a good place to talk. We can go back to my apartment, then-"

"Why? Afraid our little squabble will ruin your reputation with the locals, eh?" I jeered. (At this point probably half the square was staring at us. Hey, screaming just seems to attract attention. Can't imagine why.)

He narrowed his eyes and fixed me with a look, "I'm not as concerned about my reputation as you may think. Not anymore anyway."

"Really now?" (I didn't believe this for a second).

"_Really._ I'm only asking because you're starting to smoke. You want to barbecue me, fine, but don't take half the square with us."

He had me there. I hadn't really noticed, but Ptolemy's form had started to blur slightly and smoke was just about pouring out his ears. I'd question the kid's sanity to actually _ask_ to be _alone_ with me at such a time, but I was far too angry to really care how suicidal he'd gotten in the past few months. (If I had to guess I'd say _very_. His suicidal impulses seemed to improve with age, like fine wine, or so I'm told. I've never had the stuff as I'm sure I told you human garbage doesn't really agree with me.)((I was soon about to find the irony behind that past footnote – it's weird how somethings works out…))

"Lead the way." I ground out.

"You have to let me out first." Nat rolled his eyes as if this were obvious. Right. I'd forgotten I had a hand on both sides of his head (and two well sized dents in the wall to match) and had him trapped. With a grunt, I pulled back, causing a dusting of cement to pour from the wall. Nathaniel sighed, "You realize _I _have to pay for that?"

"Good. I was beginning to think I let you off easy." I gave him my best smile and punched a third hole in the wall, this one about twice as big as the two already there (which I must say were already fairly good sized). Nathaniel flinched and watched me with a wary eye for a moment, my smile only grew. Finally, with a moan of despair he led me off to his apartment (probably seeing no way out of it – there was no way the boy could escape me. Especially not on those scrawny little chicken legs of his. My god you think he'd at least _try_ to bulk up? Ya see what I mean? Natty gave me so much material to work with I wasn't even sure if I should tease him or just feel plain sorry for him.)

Nathaniel's apartment was… _interesting_ to say the least.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I expected the kid to live in a palace (It's _America_, need I say more?) but I would at least have thought it would be a, well, a _nice_ apartment. Not the run down sham he led me to. I hadn't expected it to be the exact building I'd slammed him into (although it does explain why he was there) and the second he started waltzing up the squeaking, rotting staircase I knew I'd walked into a dream – or nightmare. Either way it was horrible and I wanted to wake up. (This had nothing to do with the room- I'd seen plenty worse- but the apocalyptic over tones the room gave off. Like the fact that Nathaniel was living there for one and that his landowner seemed to actually – wait for it because this is where is gets _really _strange – _like him_. The wiry old man had totted out when he saw Nathaniel, asking if he was ok, something about hearing screaming and then attempting to talk with the boy about his door or something equally stupid. As if he thought Nathaniel was wonderful company. Let me say that again to stress the sheer insanity of it; _Nathaniel_ was living in a rundown apartment and was _friends_ with the landowner. Now do you see why I wished I could wake up? Not that I were actually dreaming, just to clear it up for you particularly dim readers. It only _felt_ like a dream. At least I think so – dijins can't really dream so I may be completely off with my simile).

The room wasn't as bad as it could be as far as rundown apartments go, I just couldn't get over the fact that this was _Nathaniel's home_. I'd expected the stuck up Brit to cart his riches over here and make the locals build him another posh townhouse like his previous residence. This? Well, this was barely better than that Prague hotel (Think way back, Golem incident). And by barely I mean the only positives being no cemetery view (actually it had a good view of the square and harbor) and that there was nothing molding anywhere (as far as I could tell that is).

At least Natty still seemed to be a germaphobe, which restored a little normalcy, the place was positively spotless – ah, wait, his bedroom door was cracked and through it I could see he hadn't made his bed. Although I guess that would be normal – he is a teenage boy after all.

As I looked about the tiny room trying to figure out where to sit (the living room and kitchen conjoined, the first room you entered into, and there was only enough space to squeeze either a table and chair or sofa in addition to the appliances and Nathaniel had opted for a rather pitiful cream sofa. I briefly wonder if he ate standing up then or just sat on the kitchen's counters – I couldn't imagine either) before I gave up and just flopped down on the sofa.

"So… nice place you got…" I commented, having the pleasure of seeing Nathaniel grimace.

"Don't. I'm still trying to get used to it and I doubt the pitiful amount of appreciation I have for it can withstand your jibes." He muttered and, surprising me, like an actual host, asked, "Want anything?" He gestured towards the fridge before he got two cups from the cupboard (I have no idea what kind of wood it was but I did notice one door was falling ever so slightly off its peg. While I'm on the subject of doors and hinges, was it just me or was his front door sitting in the hall? I kid you not, his door, his _front _door, was lying forlornly in the hallway. Did he seriously take it off or was this place so messed up that it actually fell off? Do I even _want_ to know the other alternatives?).

Nathanial seemed to remember something and looked at me with a frown, waking me from my thoughts (sort of- I was still lost as to how or why someone would forgo a front door) "Oh, wait, you don't really eat or drink, do you?"

"Drink." I said dismissively, (How stupid could someone be? Why leave off the door? Does he realize how many things could go terribly wrong just because of the absence of that flimsy little barrier? I knew too well what happened without proper cover). "Water."

He looked genuinely surprised, I was fairly surprised myself (Not at the way I'd demanded the water, of course, being the great dijin I am and no longer being forced to serve it's a wonder I didn't have legions of human slaves at this point. Human slaves that I would use to fix that damn door. Is it just me? Or did I just see something in the hallway? God, now I'm getting paranoid. _Put the damn door back on it's hinges_!) – when did I start drinking water? (Again, irony). But as he brought me a small glass filled with the stuff (cracked, I might add – the cup that is, I don't see how you can crack water, its _water_) I found I was actually very thirsty and had another two glasses before he got himself one and sat on the counter opposite my couch. (Mystery solved).

He watched in fascination as I finished my third glass and wordlessly handed me his, which I took, before he asked, furrowing his eyebrows, "Don't get me wrong, I know some spirits eat people if they please, but doesn't it unsettle your stomach or something? I seem to remember you laughing at my need to eat and drink at – well, at almost every damn meal I had in your presence. Far too many I might add."

"Well then you shouldn't have eaten in front of me. Like I need to see you shovel garbage down your throat." I wrinkled my nose, "Disgusting."

He scoffed, "And you acting like you'd just wandered out of the Sahara wasn't? You just downed three – four" he corrected with a glance at my hands currently fiddling with the empty cup, "cups faster than I could go through one."

I shrugged, "I was thirsty." (I blame exhausting thoughts about certain moronic individuals who leave off their doors, get attacked by flying monkeys and are carried off never to be seen again – this isn't just me being witty by the way, I've seen it happen).

"Since when are _you_ thirsty?" He asked as he got up and refilled the glasses. With a glance at the fridge and a dubious glance my way he sighed and said, "Don't tell me you're hungry too."

"Well, now that you mention it…" I muttered, almost sheepishly. I hadn't actually noticed, Kitty always brought me snacks and drinks whenever I visited, said it helped her deal with the whole me not being human idea, but I never touched them – or at least, I thought I didn't. I always figured the empty plates and cups were her doing, her need not to waste food and drink but, could it possibly have been me? Why hadn't I gotten sick then? I did go to the Other Place often enough that it wouldn't really harm me, but I always felt a bit queasy after consuming anything in this world. At least, last I could remember.

And yet here I found myself leaning on the counter finishing a peanut butter sandwich, like some half starved coyote and demanding seconds all the while Nathaniel stared at me in silence like I'd grown a second head, wordlessly handing me the food and drink until I was sated. (To be fair, if I somehow _had_ taken up the habit of eating, that would mean I'd gone a whole week without anything – so I guess that could explain my ravenous nature?).

"Wow." Nathaniel seemed at utter loss for words as he cleared away dishes, "Nothing else, I assume? Unless you want me to go roast you a pig or kill a cow or something?"

"Maybe later," I smirked, feeling quiet pleased now that I felt full. Up until I realized how weird that was. I groaned, "Oh great, another wonderful little quirk I have you to thank for."

"Me!" Natty tossed the dishes in the sink and spun around, placing his hands on the tiny counter. "And I asked you to clean out my icebox, did I?"

"Oh please, I didn't eat that much." I rolled my eyes. Honestly, after all I did for the guy he could give me one or two lousy sandwiches.

Nathaniel placed two empty peanut butter jars and his empty bread box on the counter.

"Oh." I said (I still say I earned all those sandwiches).

"Yeah, oh. When did you turn into such a pig?"

I stuck my pinky in my mouth to unstick a gob of peanut butter, "Pig? I'd say connoisseur and probably a bit after your little disappearing act. Which," I reminded him, "You still have yet to give me an explanation for."

"Wait…" His eyebrow furrowed, "You mean like… after you were, you know, um…"

"Inside you? Yup."

"Don't say it like that." He snapped, "It sounds incredibly vulgar."

"Still true though." I smirked, the boy had turned redder than crimson. I really did miss riling him up. (I filled away the knowledge that he disliked _vulgar_ wordplay. I knew enough to have my own mother rolling in her grave. Not that I have a mom – metaphors and all that).

Attempting to salvage the conversation (and his pride) he pressed, "So you're saying you – what? You have to eat now because of me?"

"No. I'd say I _like_ to eat because of you, now that I think about it." I thought back to all the places I traveled in my past few months of freedom – not one place where I hadn't sampled the local cuisine. (And by local cuisine I mean the food as well as the people – when in Rome and all that jazz).

"Odd. I haven't felt any different…" Of course Natty was immediately thinking how this affected _him_. He stared at his hand (bandaged for some reason) for a moment and frowned.

"Of course not – anything I gave you would actually be _useful_. Unlike eating and feeling. Horrible nuisances." (Now that I was on the subject I wondered what other lingering effects our teamwork had. I wasn't sure I could take much more.)

"Wait, _feeling_? Feeling what? Emotions? Like what?"

"Now that's just insulting. I did have emotions before you know. They're just… a little more intensified." (Boy was that the understatement of the century. The way I'd been acting these past few months, the past few _days_ in particular – I felt like a pregnant woman who just injected herself full of hormones.)

"Oh you know what I mean. Usually your emotions are limited to what you please, I don't recall you ever breaking down and sobbing."

"Well I feel like it when I look at you." I shot back with a grin. "Seriously Nat, it's called a makeover – _get one_."

"_Why you_– !"

"I seriously don't understand you humans," I went on, "A few months of _feeling_ and I'm about ready to kill myself…" I looked at Nat then and added, "Or _someone_."

I had the pleasure of watching him sweat and try to hold back a shiver, so I decided to toy with him even more; the prat deserved it after all. "I haven't felt too much in that way of _you_, ya know. Mainly regret that I let Nouda and that building kill you. _I_ wanted to do that."

It was just another jibe, one I'd given him a hundred times, but Natty suddenly frowned (he was still trying to control a slight tremor so it looked particularly unpleasant).

"You still can." He muttered. "I'm not going to kid myself and pretend this is just a social visit. I know I no longer have any protection from you or whatever _actions _you choose to take." I stared at him for a minute, shocked (did he really think I came all this way just to kill him? Well I did partially come for that reason, but kill is such a loose term, it's not like I was thinking to kill him _dead_… Well. Not much anyway) but he continued, "It was only luck I survived anyway, I mean, why else did you hunt me down? Didn't you say you'd get your revenge on me? Don't you hate me for everything I've done?"

"Well I…" I particularly hated this question because it was the exact one I'd been trying to answer for two hundred forty two days. Why _didn't _I hate him? Why was it that now I was in front of him, the idea of taking his life seemed suddenly _horrible_.

"I know it'd be easy for you. It's not like I could put up much resistance…" He continued and looked at my hands then, still coated with dust from the cement I'd smashed (as well as peanut butter). Suddenly self conscious, I hid them from view.

"And what of _you_, Natty boy?" I deflected. "Pompous little hotshot you are, why haven't you gone and conquered London by now? Wasn't that all you were moaning about before? Serving idiots and how it should be _you_ calling the shots? London's defenseless and you and I both know you could take it easily. Why run away to America, huh? Wanted a fresh country to destroy?"

Nathaniel jumped to his feet, furious, "_Don't even joke like that!_" He bellowed and stormed off into the tiny bedroom. I heard a little 'click' telling me he locked the door, but I was having none of that. (Only I had a right to avoid questions. Natty gave that up when he went off and played possum).

I turned into a puff of smoke and passed under the door (I found myself slightly grateful that this room actually _had _a door. I would've been worried if the bedroom door was also missing), changing back to Ptolemy once inside.

"_Get out!_" Nathaniel was sitting on the bed, knees drawn to his chest. He hurled a pillow at me when he saw me.

"Nu-uh. Not gunna happen." I brushed the pillow aside and walked over to the bed. "You owe me an explanation."

"And you _don't_?" He shot back. "Let me ask you a question – _why do you care_!"

He made a move to untangle himself from his bed, probably to run off into the bathroom (I definitely was not following him in there) but before he could do so I grabbed his wrist.

"Wanna talk? Fine, we'll talk."

"No. I _don't_ want to talk. I want you to kill me or get the hell out of my life. Those are your options." He sneered and tried to yank his arm back. He couldn't, naturally, weak little thing humans are. So of course he started to make a huge fuss. He was squirming so hard he almost wriggled out of my grasp but there was no way I'd let him off that easily.

I grabbed his other wrist and slammed him down against the bed, _hard_, probably jarring his teeth, maybe even cracking something, I wasn't exactly being mindful of my strength here. Before he had a chance to start squirming I straddled him and interlocked our legs. Kid wasn't going anywhere.

I leaned in close, I could feel his heart going a mile a minute (Probably thought I chose the 'kill him' option – which I admit did sound good at the moment) and, our faces not even an inch away, growled menacingly, "Third option. We talk. _Now_."

Nathaniel was staring blankly ahead, his mouth working. It took me a second to realize I'd knocked the wind out of him and another few seconds before he managed to gasp and get air back into his lungs, all the while my patience dwindling even lower. (Seriously, did I ever mention how pathetically _weak_ humans are?)

"There's… n-_nothing_…to… to talk… about!" He gasped, panting heavily between words. (I could have been nice at this point and positioned myself so I wasn't sitting directly on top of his diaphragm but – what can I say? Karma's one nasty lady.)

"Oh, no?" I asked, "So you have nothing to say about that little promise you gave Kitty? The one you broke – or at least tried to? You think I don't deserve to know how the hell you're still in one piece? Or _why_ for that matter, that you didn't tell anyone you're alive and instead ran off to America – which I remind you, is still _warring_ with your precious Britain. That it, eh?"

"B-Britain ended the war. America's its own country." He protested, his speech gaining more of that annoying 'superior' tone of his as he regained his breath. (I was seriously considering knocking the wind back out of him).

"Oh _whatever_! I can never keep up with you humans and your wars – point is; _you owe me an explanation._"

We were both silent for a long while then, I was waiting for his answer and he was probably trying to figure out _how_ to answer (in a way that wouldn't end with me popping him a new one, that is). The silence was only broken by his shallow breathing.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said about the whole take over London thing, alright? Just tell me what happened after you dismissed me and we'll call it even." I could tell he was still sore about what I'd said, why he stormed off in the first place, so I decided a compromise would be best. One issue at a time – I'd figure out how to worm the rest out of him after I knew what the heck happened.

He seemed to think about it, and then nodded. It would've been great if an answer accompanied that nod but he stayed mute.

Finally, right when I was ready to toss the whole damn bed out the window, (and I _would have_) he spoke, well, _muttered_, "Nouda ate me."

"Excuse me?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up past my hairline. (I wasn't asking because I didn't hear him, of course, dijin have excellent hearing, but I was definitely _not_ expecting that answer.)

"Nouda ate me." He repeated, his ears faintly reddening, he'd turned his face away from mine to avoid my curious gaze and continued, "Right after I released you. I must've misjudged how close he was because he was on me right before the staff broke. I was afraid the staff wouldn't work if he ate it – there are stories that the stomach of a spirit is almost like a parallel dimension – so I tossed the staff to one side and jumped the other way, I knew he'd go after me, I was his target anyway, I just needed to give the staff an extra second to break its protective bounds… and then…"

"Then?" I pressed.

"Nothing." He made and attempt at shrugging but it didn't really work, what with me holding him down. "I remember Nouda, and his mouth all agape and horrible and… just, _nothing_. The next thing I remember after him eating me is being screamed at by some foreign woman, her yanking me into her home and patching me up. There are fragments – I sometimes have dreams that I'm buried alive under glass and iron… or I'll see blurs of color like I'm running with the boots on…It feels so _real… _but I just can't remember if it _was_."

He looked at me then, as if waiting for my brilliant input, like I'd have the answer. And I sort of did. "So, basically, Nouda must've shielded you from the blast…" I muttered, a little at loss for words. It did sort of make sense though – if Nathaniel was only inside Nouda long enough for the blast to go off, then Nouda would've died under all the iron before he had a chance to digest him. Almost like how that fish soup had protected me from that nasty silver pot Farquel stuffed me in (_not_ one of my favorite memories so if you don't remember what I'm talking about here it's your bad not mine).

"Wait a minute – that still doesn't explain how you got out from under an entire building, boots or no."

"I don't know. I can't remember. It's possible…"

But I wasn't listening anymore. His words were suddenly not good enough for me. I was overwhelmed with the urge to make sure that this was, in fact, Nathaniel I was talking to and not just some figment of my imagination. I wanted _proof._

I'd grabbed the hem of his shirt before I could stop myself and yanked it up, exposing his stomach.

"What are you _doing!_" Nathaniel squealed, using his free hand to try and cover himself.

I batted his arm away and quickly scanned his torso. I felt myself let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when I saw what I was looking for. (Maybe I didn't let out a breath, maybe I just blew. It's so hard to tell, what with me not needing air and all. Maybe it was just my more theatrical side kicking in).

"Stupid…" I muttered, tracing a large knotted scar on the side of his abdomen (he made an indignant little squeak at that), the wound he should have died from even if Nouda had saved him; the wound that we obtained together. I still remembered the panic and despair I'd felt at the time, thinking that Nat would drop dead at any moment from it. I felt an odd swell of emotion at that idea, but I'd never had experienced it or seen anyone else experience it, so if you were to ask me what the particular emotion was I couldn't be sure. "You're Natty all right. I just don't know _how_."

"Of course I am you idiot, so will you stop _touching_ me!" He snapped, slapping my hand away and pulling his shirt back down in a huff.

The trance broke and I felt the oddly calming emotion crumble away with minor irritation. I was having a moment there! Two hundred forty two days thinking the guy's dead, I think I'm entitled to be a little suspicious and want proof that it's actually _him_ who's somehow still alive.

I rolled my eyes. "Jeez, virgin much? I was just curious." (Like touching him was _my_ top priority? There were too many less obnoxious, more attractive fish in the sea for _that_ to cross my mind. Still, I did so enjoy his reaction).

"Wha- you – _just don't touch me_, ok?" He snapped, his face molting a thousand shades of red.

I chuckled, "Fine, princess, just calm down."

"You – _oh shut up!_ Like you're any better!" He gave me a shove, clearly done with me sitting on him.

"Excuse me, what was that?" I asked, cocking my head and not budging an inch despite his furious pounding, "Did you actually just compare me to you?"

"You're a _spirit_, nothing more to say." He sniffed. (Well at least he didn't say demon).

I let a slow, suggestive smile spread across my face, "It's exactly _because_ I'm a spirit I've had more play than you could even begin to fathom." Nathaniel made a face and shifted uncomfortably so I continued, "What? You don't think I haven't had a few more _curious_ masters in my time? Really now? A slave that can change into any form his master pleases? Who could resist _that_?" Our noses were practically touching now; I'd leaned in to give Natty the full benefit of my innuendo.

His complexion seemed to be permanently dyed red; he sputtered and reared back, smacking his head against the wooden headboard. I grinned.

"What's the matter Natty boy?" I asked innocently, batting my eyelashes and briefly toying with the idea of morphing into some beautiful, half naked woman to drive the point home.

"S-_shut up_." He growled, trying to school his features.

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you?" I breathed.

"_WHAT!_" He squeaked and smacked his head again. The knock must've helped him get his wits back because he seemed to recover then and gave me another shove. "Off, _now_. This conversation is _over_."

I chuckled, there were _so_ many responses to _that_, but I decided I would be nice and oblige. "Fine, fine." I shrugged and got off of him. For added affect I sashayed over to the door, spun around and gave him a flirtatious wink, "Lemme know if you ever wanna finish this _conversation_."

And with that I waltzed out the door.

I could practically hear his heart clamoring up an orchestra.

**Yay! So, i hope i met all your expectations interaction wise (i don't care if the plot frustrates you, i'm not changing that :P) but since this is my first time with Nat and Barty interacting lemmie know what you guys think! I think it feels like them but im not sure :/**

**Whatever, on to the next chapter! It's summer now, so i have a right to be a lazy arse :D**


	8. Breakfast

**Thank you to all my reviewers! I'm glad the reunion didn't disappoint, hopefully I can continue well :D Omigosh, SakuNaru-Chan u are quiet the perceptive one, I'm glad that made someone laugh because when they joined like that i couldn't get my mind outta da gutter. Gooooood times :D Oh, and Bart-chan I'm glad to hear you won't have to push yourself, that would be bad. And a nickname! For me! AWWWWW~! You shouldn't have! :D**

_Nathaniel_

It was hot. Perhaps a bit _too_ hot. Which was odd – even in his fuzzy, half awake state, Nathaniel was almost certain he'd left a window open and his covers weren't particularly thick. Maybe it was a warmer night than those previous? He didn't really know, didn't care to think about it. He could tell by the morning sun just barely rising over the horizon that he wouldn't be needed at Darren's for another hour or so. Best to go back to sleep.

With a sigh he turned over on his side, pulling the covers over his head, when he hit something. At first he relaxed into it. It was soft and warm and smelled pleasant. But then his half awake mind recognized he was in bed… and he wasn't alone. Nathaniel froze; his eyes flew open, suddenly wide awake. With a jerky, panicked movement, he pushed himself up into a sitting position to view the scene.

He could just barely make out another form hidden under the covers in the dimly lit room. In a panic he tried to rack his mind for something, _anything_ that could tell him what the hell happened. The first impression he got was of Brandon. Brandon had told him something… what was it? Foggy fragments filled his mind. He had told him… something about _preferences_… and letting his trousers do the talking? Nathaniel's eyes widened and he covered his mouth to prevent a horrified squeak from escaping.

_It… it couldn't be, right? I wouldn't… not with a total stranger! _Nathaniel suddenly felt claustrophobic in the tiny room. His thin, blue pajamas did nothing to relive his suspicions; they could easily have been put back on after a more sinister act. Panic clawed at his throat, he felt sick. Just then, the figured moved and made a soft noise.

In horrified shock, Nathaniel shrieked and flung himself away from the figure and, consequently, off his bed. He fell on the floor in a painful jumble, tangled in the sheets, with a rather loud racket. Disbelief flooded the boy's mind, _That... that sounded like a man! _

The unidentified figure stirred and groggily sat up in bed and looked over at him, silky black locks obscured his face. With a yawn he asked, "Jeez Nat, bad dream much?"

Ice water rushed down Nathaniel's spine as he gazed at the tanned boy. For a split second, he was like a deer in the headlights, complete and utter horror freezing him. But then reason took hold; memories flooded back.

Bartimaeus. He'd bumped into Bartimaeus last night; they talked a bit and the dijin had stayed overnight. That explained who and why he was in his house but not why the dijin was in his bed. So of course, that was the next indignant shriek that left his mouth.

"Why the bloody hell are _you_ in _my_ bed! Didn't I tell you to sleep on the couch?" Nathaniel groused, trying to pull himself up but only succeeding in tangling himself further.

"Your couch is _awful_. I've seriously rested on rocks that felt better." The dijin answered with a bored expression, propping himself up on his elbows. He seemed quiet amused at the boy's predicament, "Besides, you weren't exactly against it last night. Practically begged me not to go and _clung_ to me. It was disgusting. Probably the most horrifying thing I've ever had to endure and I was in _Prague_ when Gladstone invaded."

Nathaniel turned beet red, only now realizing that Bartimaeus' torso wasn't covered, and his bare shoulders visible. "You… _you horrible spirit! _That's a _lie!_" He subconsciously wrapped the sheets tighter around himself, as if for protection from the dijin.

"I wish it was." Bartimaeus sighed, then fixed him with a knowing look, "You're quiet the snuggler."

"_You –_" Nat stopped himself, blushing hard and spoke through gritted teeth, "_Why_ am I even listening to this! I know you're messing with me. I would _never_ do something so depraved! Especially not with _you._"

"Well, that might be true. Not _consciously_, at least." The spirit sighed and shrugged his lean shoulders, not particularly concerned, "You started screaming last night. I tried to wake you up but you just latched onto me and started sobbing – it was all very heart wrenching and all that." The demon picked his nose and flicked a booger off somewhere, demonstrating just _how_ heart wrenching he thought it was.

"_That's_–" Again Nathaniel stopped himself. He scooped up the covers about him and said, "I've had enough of this nonsense, I'm going to take a shower."

Infuriatingly enough, the dijin watched him go, his smile widening by a couple teeth every second. Finally, right before Nathaniel reached the bathroom door he called. "You _do_ realize you're wearing pajamas right? I can't see anything. Thankfully."

Nathaniel flushed and shrieked, _"SHUT UP!"_ slamming the bathroom door with far more force than necessary. He took a deep breath to calm himself and leaned against the door. "Hmph… jerk… telling those lies…" he muttered to himself.

"I _heard_ that!" Bartimaeus' annoying, too cheerful voice assailed him. "And it's all true! You were so desperate for a big, strong _man _to keep you _company_–"

"_SHUT UP_! Why can't you go somewhere else! And stop twisting it to your fancy! Someone might hear you!" Nat yelled in response, embarrassed. That stupid dijin and his insane hearing! To get his mind off it, he looked at the far wall, where a mirror and sink sat, and gasped. "_WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FACE_!"

"I _told_ you. You wouldn't wake up and you certainly wouldn't _shut up_ so I had to take some steps!"

"So you _slapped _me!" He gasped, looking at the still red mark, just beginning to fade. Nathaniel knew with a sinking feeling it wouldn't fully fade until later that day. The boys were sure to ask questions. Maybe if he skipped helping out… but no. Brandon would come looking for him then, and the _last_ thing he wanted was for Brandon to see Bartimaeus.

"You bet your arse I did, and you wouldn't _believe_ how satisfying it felt!" Was the dijin's cheerful response.

Nat groaned, mussed his hair in frustration and with a sigh finally stripped and got into the shower. He leaned heavily on the shower wall, desperately wracking his mind for some way to explain off the mark to his friends while simultaneously trying to think of some reason for the dijin to stay _put_. There would be no end to the chaos if Bartimaeus followed him. Almost all the boys had seen his sketches, and it would be suspicious if Nathaniel asked him to change forms…

He banged his head on the wall a few times, ignoring Bartimaeus' lazy calls of 'Don't hurt yourself! Oh, wait. Please _do,_' and trying desperately to come up with an excuse he couldn't find.

His friends would be easy to fool, Bartimaeus, not so much.

With another heavy sigh, Nathaniel reluctantly got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then he remembered the dijin sitting in his room and that he forgot to bring a change of clothes. He grabbed a ridiculously fluffy bath robe to wear instead and used the towel to dry his hair.

He slowly turned the door handle and peered out curiously, clutching his robe tight against his chest to make sure nothing could be seen, hoping the dijin had gotten bored and had left his room. Thankfully he had.

Nathaniel called out to the dijin and heard a response from somewhere in his living room/ kitchenette, deemed his room relatively safe, and quickly closed his bedroom door. He then grabbed his fishing attire and, seized with sudden paranoia, ran back into the bathroom and threw it on, in case the dijin was playing some trick. He took a peek at himself in the mirror and, shuddering to think what the dijin might say about the too big, overall style trousers, bright yellow hat and boots and white t-shirt standard of fishermen attire, sighed and removed the hat to ruffle his hair. He didn't have long to ponder when a huge crash came from the kitchen.

Startled, Nathaniel burst in to find Bartimaeus in the middle of cooking, or at least attempting to, using a variation of vegetables, spreads, oils and spices that should _never_ be mixed together. The entire room smelled like an incense room got into a fistfight with a corpse and a thick smoke was accumulating on the ceiling. From the looks of it, several large metal pans had fallen out of the cabinets and onto the floor, causing the crash.

The dijin himself was furiously beating some thick batter and had whipped half of it across the kitchen, into his hair and onto his arms. A huge glob of the stuff stuck to his nose and his tongue poked slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated, obviously thinking cooking a serious business.

Dumbfounded, Nathaniel stood and watched, jaw agape, for a moment before he said dubiously, "I really doubt that _any _of that is edible."

The dijin stopped mixing the odd concoction of what Nathaniel gathered to be eggs, milk, spices, fish chunks and flour, stuck his finger in, tasted it and said, "I dunno. Tastes pretty good to me."

"That only makes me doubt it more." Nat made a disgusted face and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself, "Honestly. You're making a horrible mess."

"Oh hush. You wouldn't know good food if it came up and kicked you in the shins."

"Like you would?"

"Oh sure. I've made this a hundred times, used to be an old master's favorite. Though I may be a few centuries rusty."

"Great. That's just what I need first thing in the morning." Nathaniel sighed and made a move to get some real food from the fridge but the dijin smacked him on the head, splattering some of the batter in the boy's hair. "_Ow! _Oh come on! I just washed!"

"Nope. You're eating this." The dijin said firmly and before Nat could protest, continued, "And don't get your feathers in a bunch, Natty boy. A little batter won't ruin your _beautiful ensemble_."

Nathaniel blushed, "Oh shut it! Like you're one to talk! Who cooks _half-naked_? Put something on before you burn yourself!"

Bartimaeus looked down at his half-naked form, clad in his classic loincloth and shrugged. "Why? Doesn't make much difference to me." He then looked up a Nat through his thick lashes and posed suggestively, "Unless you find this, _distracting_?"

"I don't have time for this." Nathaniel growled and went back into the bedroom to try and find his extra sketch pad. Not daring to risk pulling out the one he'd thrown into a kitchen drawer for fear of Bartimaeus seeing it and in turn all the pictures Nat had drawn of him.

He rooted around for a bit and finally found it. To be sure it was safe he quickly flipped through it, was relieved to find only landscapes, sceneries and studies of his crew mates and went back to the bedroom door.

To his chagrin, when he turned the handle and pushed, nothing happened. Perplexed, he tried it again, a little harder. Still the door wouldn't go. With a sinking feeling Nathaniel tried the door yet again, and on his fourth try he found himself yelling. "Dammit Bartimaeus! Open the door!"

"Oh _please_. So you can run away and ignore my amazing cooking? You wound me ser!"

"This isn't funny!" Nathaniel growled, pounding on the door. "I have to go help Darren on his father's boat in half an hour!"

"What? So you really _were_ planning on abandoning me? Ouch, babe. I may just have to keep you in there as punishment."

"_Bartimaeus."_ Nathaniel growled through clenched teeth, pushing against the door.

But the dijin had started to ignore Nathaniel by singing a very loud, obnoxious song in a language the boy didn't recognize. He suspected that Bartimaeus was purposefully hitting the notes off key at their loudest points just to be extra obnoxious.

He gave a cry of frustration, hitting the door one last time for good measure, and, seeing nothing else to do in his predicament, sat down against the door.

"You're _such_ a child!" Nat cried, listlessly smacking the door again.

To his utter annoyance, Bartimaeus, without missing a beat, switched to English and sung, "Takes one to know one~!" before continuing on with the song in perfect rhythm.

It would have been fairly impressive if it wasn't so damn annoying.

Finally, the dijin called for Nat to come in and, cautiously, the boy did so.

With a groan he looked at the food sitting upon the counter. They were little brown cake things, charred to a crisp, with some horrible aroma coming off the.

The ex-magician made a face. "I am not eating that." He protested.

"Oh yes you are." The dijin argued cheerfully and popped one in his mouth with a horrible crunch.

Nathaniel shuddered, "I think I'd rather grab something in the square… or just skip breakfast…" He muttered, completely disgusted.

"Aw come on, it's not that bad." The dijin rolled his eyes and picked one up, shoving it close to the boy's face. He almost gagged at the smell.

"Thanks, but really, I'm fine."

"Oh just shut up and eat it." Bartimaeus growled and shoved the little cake in Nathaniel's mouth, who gagged slightly at the rude and abrupt intrusion. The dijin held his hand over the boy's mouth so he wouldn't spit it out and demanded, "Chew."

Not wanting to choke to death, Nathaniel did just that and swallowed. Satisfied, the dijin asked, "There, see? Good right?"

Nathaniel looked shocked and slowly rose a hand to his lips, perplexed, "I don't believe it." He muttered in an awed voice, "It actually _is_ edible. And good to boot."

The dijin gave him a dry smile and said sarcastically, "Gee, _thanks_." He then grabbed a couple more of the cakes, threw them on a plate, and flopped down on the couch, leaving the rest to Nathaniel.

Cautiously, the boy nibbled at another one and, upon seeing that the first one wasn't a fluke, decided it would be safe to eat them. After he had had a couple, he split one in half, peer inside and asked, "Just out of curiosity, what's in this?"

Bartimaeus looked up from his plate and answered with his mouth still full, listing the ingredients off his fingers, "Oh the usual… spices, herbs, milk, eggs, butter…" Nathaniel was so busy watching the dijin spit food everywhere with minor irritation that he almost didn't notice when the ingredients started to get strange. "…a drop or two of fish blood and the gizzards, fish marrow, and I add some chunks of the meat too, mainly just the organs though, that's where all the flavor and stuff is…"

Nathaniel choked, and pounded on his chesty furiously, "_What?_"

"Oh don't give me that look. You humans nowadays, with all your _processed_ foods. Disgusting. I bet you don't even know what a whole chicken looks like! This is how you should be eating. Nothing wasted."

"Where did you even _find _that?" Nathaniel immediately turned around to inspect his fridge. He'd had fish in there, but it sure as hell didn't have all the things the dijin was talking about. Blood meant fresh fish, and his was fillet and frozen. Not to mention it was still sitting in the fridge.

"Some kid came up and forced a fish on me and told me it was some rare catch… blah, blah, blah… something about cooking it right away while it was still fresh…" He shrugged, unconcerned, but Nathaniel was panicking.

"_Darren?_" He asked, the spirit only shrugged. Startled, Nathaniel ran to the front door, which to his shock he found was back on its hinges, saw no one and ran back to the bedroom window; he could feel the dijin's curious stare following him the whole time. Doing his best to ignore it, Nat threw open the window, leaned out and scanned the square.

It would be bad if Darren saw Bartimaeus, but the fisherman's son had a serious streak and usually only got nosy when drunk. Usually he stayed out of other people's business and was willing to keep a secret or two. If Nathaniel could get to him and tell him not to spread the word, especially not to _Brandon_, that he had a guest maybe, just maybe, everything would be fine.

He caught sight of the chocolate colored boy hefting a trunk halfway across the square, making his morning deliveries. Cupping a hand to his mouth, Nathaniel yelled, "Hey! _Hey! Darren!_"

The boy looked up, pushing his auburn locks out of his face, smiled, and waved. "Hoy there, England!"

"Did you drop that red snapper off at my apartment!"

"What me? No! I sent Brandon to give it to you and to tell you we're not going out on the water today! Big storm's brewing!"

Nathaniel paled, "_Brandon!_ It wasn't Tal or Todd?"

"Are you _kidding_? They're probably still sleeping, the lugs!"

"Oh. Do you know where I could find him? Brandon that is?"

"He went to the shop – They're boarding it up for the storm, the winds supposed to get nasty. You should fix your windows too Brit!"

"Thanks for the heads up!" Nat called back, Darren nodded and went back to his work. Shakily the ex-magician closed his window and turned around.

He shrieked.

"Don't _do_ that!" He growled clutching his chest.

Bartimaeus had followed him and was sitting on his bed, only half a foot away, still holding his plate of food. He popped another one in his mouth with a crunch and gave a little nod to the window and asked, "What was that about?"

Nathaniel blushed, "Nothing. Just checking today's schedule."

"From the sounds of it, you don't _have_ one." The dijin smiled, "Lucky me, looks like I'll get a tour of the town after all."

"Sorry, I have to go meet someone." Nat said, trying to fight the panic he was feeling.

Brandon was a good friend but he was also a notorious matchmaker. If Bartimaeus randomly showed up so soon after their talk, so soon after his little _suggestion_, Nathaniel knew the boy would think things. Nat seriously did not want to have to spend every waking moment avoiding matchmaking grenades. It had taken him two whole moths before Brandon had stopped pushing Penny on him. That was horrible and awkward enough but at least Penny was a girl. If Brandon did the same with Bartimaeus… _I might well kill myself_.

"Ooh! Fun! Can I come?" The spirit asked innocently, batting his eyelashes in a pleading fashion, oblivious to the boy's inner turmoil.

"Absolutely not." Nathaniel squeaked, horrified. He schooled his tone and amended, "Don't forget you ruined my kitchen."

"Oh right. I come all this way and you abandon me for some chump just because I got a _little_ batter on your counters."

"And the floor, cabinets and, _somehow_, my _ceiling_." Nathanial pointed at the dripping blob above the fridge. The dijin huffed, crossed his arms and made a face.

"You know you couldn't stop me if I really wanted to go." Bartimaeus said very seriously, he narrowed his eyes, challenging.

Nathanial mirrored the demon's pose, made a quick calculation and decided to gamble, "Of course. I know how crafty you can be."

"I wouldn't even need to shape shift either. Thin little thing you are."

"True, I don't doubt your strength."

"Not to mention I have excellent tracking skills – I mean, I found you after you _died_."

"Couldn't even escape to a different continent, I know."

The two stared at each other for about a minute, the dijin chewing on his cheek, measuring up the boy. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence Bartimaeus' mood shifted and he said, "Fine. I have better things to do than to follow you around like some deranged puppy anyway."

Nathaniel let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding. "I won't be gone too long. Apparently a storm's coming in."

"You better not. I didn't come all the way here to be cooped up in here."

It occurred to ex-magician then that Bartimaeus truly _didn't_ have to stay cooped up there. The demon was no longer under his control, didn't need to follow him or his wishes. It brought back unsettling questions to the boy's mind, like why the spirit was even there. He didn't have time to dwell on it though, because he was out the door before the dijin had a chance to change his mind.

_Wait. Change his mind! Like I actually need _his_ permission to leave my own house! _Nathaniel indulged himself with these resentful thoughts as he hurried to Brandon's car shop but deep down knew that, he sort of did need the permission if he didn't want a spy following him. He had no illusions what horrible things a resentful dijin could get up to in his absence. That and he needed to make absolutely certain that no one other than Brandon heard the conversation he was about to have.

Nathaniel made his way to the old barn Brandon had made into a car shop, located at the very brink of town; its rusty red paint peeling in chunks. He hurried inside and out of the light wind and rain just beginning to pick up and, using every ounce of strength available to him, somehow managed to pull the giant barn door closed behind him.

The sky outside had grayed despite the early hour casting dark shadows across the poorly lit barn. He called out a couple times to Brandon, but could see and hear nothing that indicated he was even around. Musty old hay piles mixed with the car fumes and gave Nat a headache, making him wary and paranoid of the dark shadows the old Junkers cast about the barn.

After about an hour of weaving through the car, a hand clamped down on Nathaniel's shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin; his scream drowning out Brandon's cheerful, "What's up, Brit?" and before he could stop himself, he'd spun around and taken a swipe at the area behind him.

Luckily, Brandon just so happened to be expecting such a reaction and managed to duck out of the way just in time, laughing.

Nathaniel could just barely make out in the dim lighting the boy doubling over in laughter, practically suffocating himself with mirth, "Oh… oh _GOD_, Brit… Y-your… your _face_…I… I just… pfft… _HAHAHA_!"

"Y-you arse!" Nathaniel was practically shaking he'd been so scared, "Why the bloody hell did you sneak up on me!"

"C-could…couldn't _resist_… it was… so _perfect_!" Now Brandon was practically rolling on the floor he was laughing so hard, so Nathaniel of course kicked him onto his butt.

"Ugh. I can't _believe_ you! You're _such_ a child!" Nat shrieked, blushing furiously, his fear steadily being replaced with rage.

"Oh, jeez." Brandon was wiping tears from his eyes, trying to calm himself, "_Worth it_. Soooo fucking _worth_ it… _pfft_."

"Are you _done_!"

"Oh, ok. Yeah. Think so." He scrambled back up to his feet and thumped Nathaniel on the shoulder. "_Whew_! Now _that_ was fun."

"Oh yes. Just a bloody laugh riot, right?" The ex-magician growled, shaking his friend's hand off his shoulder.

"Aw come on! There are worse ways to greet you! I could've been a total girl and instantly demanded to know about your little guest." Brandon swung his arm around Nat and leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Which, by the way, I want _every_ detail. I mean, I know I told you to let your trousers do the talking but to actually take a guy home!" He gave Nat a playful noogie, "Didn't know you had the balls!"

"It's not like that –" Nathaniel started but was cut off.

"Pshaw, _right_. You know I never took you for a masochist, but looking at your bruises… well, are you _sure_ you were a virgin before last night?"

"Still am, that's _not _what I did."

"Aw don't be shy. You've got little purple ringlets and a handprint on your face, don't tell me that's not rough play." Brandon chuckled.

With a growl the pale teen shoved his over excited companion away, furious, "That is _not_ what I did. I didn't go 'prowling' the town for some guy! I didn't even know he was coming!"

"What's that supposed to mean? Here, help me with this." Brandon hefted a piece of wood up and held it over the door, forcing a small bag of nails and an iron hammer on Nathaniel. He shrieked and dropped it immediately. Brandon frowned, "Look, Brit, I'm just as eager to hear this as you are to tell it but I gotta board up the barn or my dad'll kill me. Come on, we'll work and talk."

"That's _not_ the problem! I think there was a spider in there or something. I swear something just bit me." Nathaniel jumped back from the small pile of nails and the hammer and was holding his hand to his chest in a fashion that suggested something might jump out and eat him.

"What? Let me see your hand." Brandon put down his wooden plank and, carefully avoiding the nails, stepped over to inspect his friend's hand. He gently passed a hand over it but saw no blemishes, just a tiny shiny spot, as if a burn had healed over. He then asked to see Nat's bandaged hand, which he unwrapped. Again there were no blemishes except a small shiny patch of skin on his palm, as if he'd been burned. Brandon made a face, "There's nothing. Only wound's you have are the ones you got on the ship – rope burns, right? But that was over a week ago, shouldn't bother you."

"Y-yeah…" Nathaniel doubtfully studied his hands, remembering a nail he'd also grabbed on the ship to toss at that scrying demon. He'd made sure it was iron to scare the thing away and somehow had hurt himself in the process – he thought he'd gouged himself but… A flicker of hesitation passed through him and, in a small voice, he asked, "Uh… hey, just out of curiosity, what are those nails made of?"

"Well not spiders, that's for sure." He frowned, "Are you ok Brit? They're just regular ol' iron nails."

"Iron?"

"Well, yeah. What else would they be? Do you have an allergy to the stuff or something? You were acting pretty weird in the car too." He scratched his chin, "But now that I think of it, it could've just been your terrible driving skills, anyone would be unhappy cooped up in a car with _you _behind the wheel, eh?"

"Maybe I better hold the planks." Nat muttered, ignoring his friend's joke and turning to pick up the wood so he could hide his shock from Brandon. _Iron! It's not like… that couldn't happen right? But when that demon was spying on me I grabbed a nail then too… but, that's not the kind of wound a nail would give you, is it? _He cast his mind back to last night, with a certain trickle of fear he recalled Bartimaeus blaming him for a new range of emotions and odd, un-dijin-like habits, like eating. But, it's not like the spirit had affected _him_ vice versa, right? Nathaniel groaned and severely hoped that he only had this delightful little quirk to worry about – how the hell was he supposed to avoid iron? But, Brandon was right next to him, hammering the stuff into the wood not an inch from his hand. Maybe it was a fluke? Or maybe he had to touch it first? Maybe it –

"_Nathaniel!_" The boy looked up, startled to find Brandon glaring at him. "Look, I don't care if you're arachnophobia or not, don't you dare try an' use this as an excuse to not tell me what's up. I want an explanation." He shifted and waited for Nathaniel to pick up the next piece of wood before saying, "I mean, how do you not know someone's coming? You invited him in didn't you? Don't lie to me Brit I know he slept over and I know he gave you the bruises."

It took a moment for Nathaniel to understand what Brandon was talking about and what he was _implying. _Blushing, he grabbed Brandon then causing him to almost drop his hammer on his foot, "I swear if you tell anyone that I will personally send you straight to hell. In fact tell _no one _that he's here at all. Yes, he slept over, yes he practically killed me but there was no sexual connotation _whatsoever _behind_ any _of it. Personally I probably would have just left him to his own devices but I couldn't right leave him alone in a foreign country!"

"Wait, whoa whoa. Slow down." Brandon held up his hands and wiggled out of Nat's grasp, picking up the hammer and indicating him to hold another plank up, "_Foreign_ country? Didn't know he was coming? Death threat from nowhere? Don't tell me Brit that that's–?"

Nathaniel didn't answer for a while, watching Brandon hammer the wood until the window was covered and then answered.

"Bartimaeus."

Brandon stared at Nathaniel for a second, eyes wide, mouth agape, a couple nail's he'd been holding in his mouth dropping to the floor, Nathaniel stepped away from them with a frown when Brandon spat the rest out. Slowly, a small smile broke out across the blonde's face that rapidly grew by teeth until he was practically beaming stupidly, "No fucking way."

"Unfortunately, it's true." Nathaniel sighed and crossed his arms, massaging his temple as if trying to rid himself of a headache. Vaguely wondering if the nails were to blame for that too or it was just the pain of dealing with nuisances such as Bartimaeus.

"And… and he's stayin at your place while he's here?"

"…yes."

"Aw Brit! Don't you _see_? This is _perfect!_" Unable to contain himself, Brandon threw down the hammer, hugged him and spun Nat in a quick circle. "This is just like one of those crazy old romance novels! Now you guys can have a heart to heart and find out if you guys were really meant for each other!"

"First I'd like to say how ironic it is that you scared the shit out of me to _avoid_ acting like a girl. Now think about _what you just said_. Are you an idiot!" Nathaniel shrieked in response, blushing furiously and trying to shove Brandon away.

"Oh _come on!_ This is good stuff right here!" Brandon pulled back and looked at his friend, excited, "What did you do when you bumped into him again? Did you tell him how much you missed him?"

"Do I even want to know what's wrong with your delusion little mind?" Nathaniel stared at the nails on the floor briefly wondering how many he'd have to touch before they killed him. The blonde let go of him with an exasperated sigh; picked up the hammer he dropped then turned and pointed the thing at Nat.

"Don't go getting all shy again, why can't you just be honest with me and tell me? What were your feeling at that time?"

"I already did. I already told you I'm not _into_ that."

Brandon made a face, "God Brit, could you have mucked up your assignment any worse? You didn't let _this_ do the talking did you?" At that the blonde grabbed a very intimate part of Nathaniel.

The boy turned crimson and froze. "W-why you…!

Brandon pulled back and stroked his chin, "Weird… so you _do _have a dick. Funny, I was beginning to think you had a pussy down there."

"Oh, you insufferable bloody little _arse!_" Nathaniel yelled and took another swipe at him but this time Brandon caught him by the arm and took the opportunity to invade the boys personal space. The wood momentarily forgotten and hanging crookedly on the few surviving nails.

"Alright, I'll back off if you can give this to me straight." Brandon was less than an inch from Nat and grabbed his face on either side so the boy couldn't look away, the hammer once again forlornly cast aside. "Tell me that, since his return, you haven't had one sexual thought about Bartimaeus. You honestly tell me you haven't and I'll stay outta your business til the day I die." Startled, Nat tried to pull back or look away, but his steadily reddening ears and wide panicky eyes gave him away. "You see Brit? You–"

"I-it's _not_ my fault! That idiot was the one who made me think it, with his bloody teasing! It doesn't count!"

Brandon's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he relaxed his grip just enough for Nathaniel to wiggle free. "_Made_ you think it? With his teasing? You mean he was actually _flirting_ with you?"

"NOT flirting, _teasing_. It's completely different." Nat defended, blushing heavily.

"My head." Brandon moaned and rubbed his temples, "God Brit, that's what teasing _is_! _Especially_ if it's that kind of teasing! Don't you know humor is – oh forget it! If this Bart guy is as clueless as you I think we're going to have a problem."

"There is no problem!" Nathaniel snapped, "Stop that! You're just trying to mess with me!"

"So what, you're telling me you're not even a little bit happy the guys back? When you first saw him wasn't your reaction one of joy?"

Nathaniel shuddered and hugged himself, a look of dread suddenly passing his face, "No, my first feeling was one of terror. I wasn't kidding when I said he'd be dancing on my grave in England – he practically killed me when he saw me. You should see the dents in my building."

"First off, when you say t like that you really don't help me believe that you two didn't do anything. Second, he thought you were dead and you ran off to some random country. I'd be pissed too – the fact of the matter is he _didn't_ kill you. In fact he was civil enough to peacefully sleep over. Which reminds me, where the heck did he sleep, anyway? Your apartment's tiny."

Nathaniel looked away, blushing. "H-he was _supposed_ to sleep on the couch."

"W-so…You mean you guys…" Brandon put a hand over his eyes, "Give me a moment, this is too much at once, I'm still trying to process half of your stupidity."

"_IT WASN'T LIKE THAT!_"

"But you _did_ sleep in the same bed?"

"I don't know! I guess? I told him to sleep on the damn couch and when I woke up he was there!"

"So… that probably means he likes you then right? That or you couch is fucking awful but I mean, I don't care if it was made out of nails I would _not_ share a bed with _you_. Hot chick, yes, but _you!_"

"_LIKE I ASKED YOU!_"

"Calm down, I was joking, jeez, but damn Brit."

"Oh shut your gob! He didn't do it out of sentiment! It was to shut me up!" The raven hair teen paused then and twisted his fingers nervously, casting a hand through his hair with a sigh, "I… apparently had another nightmare last night."

Brandon paused, concern coloring his voice, "Oh jeez, Nathaniel, I'm sorry. Which one was it?"

"I… I don't know. I don't remember."

"Hmm… you haven't had one in a while right? Maybe it means something?"

"Maybe…"

Their conversation was put on hold then as a huge thunderclap pierced the air, lighting up the barn with a flash of light. Startled, Nathaniel looked up to see the sky pitch black. He hadn't noticed his eyes adjusting to the gradual darkness. "Oh hell, I forgot about the storm." He muttered darkly, realizing that what he thought was a short chat with Brandon in reality had eaten up hours of the day.

"How the hell did you forget? We just spent hours sealing up the barn. Thanks by the way, glad its done."

"Yeah, no problem. How is it outside?"

Brandon walked over to one of the boarded up windows and peered out it. "It's not too bad." He said lightly, "But you're going to get soaked."

"Me? Don't tell me you're going to stay here! You don't know how long this is going to last! What about food and water?"

"Oh calm down, I'm going home stupid."

"You're the stupid one! You're house is a mile up the road!" Nathaniel grabbed his arm, "What are you going to do? Drive one of these monstrosities?" He gestured wildly at the cars.

"Well, that was kinda the plan."

"Absolutely not. These stupid things would kill you in good weather, let alone this! You'll stay over at my place. It's safer that way, you _know_ that."

"Maybe if it was _you _driving. Besides, are you sure about that Brit? Storms are perfect cuddling weather. Don't you want to be _alone_ with your friend?" Brandon elbowed him playfully but Nat just smacked him.

"Oh shut up!" Thunder clapped again and Nathaniel growled, tugging on his friend, "Come on, we're going before for the storm gets worse or you can come up with anymore stupid comments."

"I bet you're just to embarrassed to be alone with him after our little chat."

Nathaniel blushed and turned his face away from Brandon, "…shut up."

"Oh! Hit the nail on the head, eh?"

"I said _SHUT UP!_"

"Right, right. Sorry, Brit, shouldn't have questioned your hospitality."

Nat glared at him then but Brandon feigned innocence, causing the Brit to roll his eyes.

"You're so obnoxious…"

"Don't tell me you don't love it."

The boys pulled open the huge barn door and shut it quickly, shivering under the eaves and, with a count of three, dashed into the rain towards Nathaniel's apartment.

**Yay! New chappie up! I regret to inform u all a threat on my left has been made and apparently, cliffies ward off psychos thus why I regretfully have another. You may thank whitkurofang for this :D (And yes, kuro I believe he was getting a bit crazy :P)**


	9. Mistake

_Bartimaeus _

I watched Nat go in his stupid outfit that he no longer needed (he wasn't going fishing _now, _was he?) and 'forgot' to remind him to change into something less ridiculous. Passive aggression for being left behind? What? Me? Pfft… _maybe_. Besides, its not like a crossed an ocean to give him fashion advice (Just to make sure he's alive and possible kill him if memory serves) so who was I to judge? After all, with all I'd seen of the boy's previous wardrobe choices he might have _wanted_ to wear that stupid fishing outfit – commoner vogue, perhaps?

I popped another fish cake in my mouth and dropped my plate in the sink briefly toying with the idea of leaving his kitchen a mess. I knew he'd clean it if I refused, he couldn't _stand_ to stay in a pigsty. Problem was, neither could I – not when it could be fairly presentable. With a sigh I started rummaging through his drawers trying to find some cleaning products.

I hummed an old Persian lullaby as I worked, the same one I'd been singing to annoy Nat (I knew magicians, being the pompous jerks they are, usually never learned the languages of conquered nations and it pleased me to think that he'd been going slowly insane hearing the foreign words when I locked him in his room) and, using a mop I found, attempted to beat the batter from the ceiling. I quickly got bored of trying to jump for it and was about to change into my gargoyle form when it struck me that I'd probably fall through the floor. I doubted the place was sturdy enough for two tons of gargoyle. So I was forced to remain as Ptolemy as I cleaned (Seriously, _why_ did I come here again? Not even trying to be witty here, I _cannot_ fathom why I came here at all.)

When the kitchen was clean I paced about for a bit, bored. I had a light lunch (I cleaned up that too – seriously, I don't understand why people even bother to cook, its so messy and annoying and gets all over the walls but I suppose I _did_ have the free time…) and then remembered what Nat had said about the storm and decided to be nice and board up the windows.

Here a problem presented itself.

I had no materials.

I briefly wondered what to do then but, as Nat hadn't told me I couldn't leave the apartment (which I would've done even if he _had_ told me not to, just to rub in the fact he no longer had power over me) I decided to go and harass his landlord.

I went to the front door (yes, there actually _was_ a door now. The kid who gave me the fish repaired it, much to my relief. It was beginning to bug me, not having a door. Not a lot, mind you, it was only a door. Just a little) and skipped down the old, rickety staircase. I had to make a sweep of the building before I finally found the entrance to the landlord's place; the door was tiny and tucked out of the way.

I knocked once, decided the man was too old to have heard it, and burst in. There wasn't a lick of magic in this entire damn town, I had no reason _not_ to be a little on the pushy side and I did love the opportunity to screw with the reputation Nat supposedly 'didn't care about'.

I was right about the old man not hearing me. I had to clear my throat four times, yell 'hey' and toss his old rocking chair (conveniently located near the door) across the room before he looked up with a 'hm?'. I don't think he even noticed that the chair wasn't supposed to be on top of his table. Poor guy.

The ground floor was much roomier than Nat's (it had a kitchen, a large oak table and four chairs, a fire pit, couch… but then again it could've been an illusion since the place had no other rooms save for the bathroom) and as I looked about the place, waiting for some supplies, the old man chattered on about how nice it was to have company and that Nat had finally brought a friend to stay over. (There was something entirely off about that guy – probably because he was senile but seriously, even if you're going slowly insane you should know better than to call a dijin who just tossed your chair across the room good company or to think Nathaniel had friends. Especially that last part. Honestly. What is the world coming to?)

"I'll give you some extra strong nails – I heard the storm's going to be a bad one. We haven't had a hurricane in a long time. Why I remember when I was a boy a huge one came and took our roof up…" The old man made a little 'tsk' noise then and tried to hand me a hammer and some nails. I'd been so distracted reminiscing on my own encounters with storms and hurricanes that I almost took them (I actually got stuck in a hurricane once before. Took me all the way from the Russian coast to the British Iles, in fact that was the first time I'd ever gone there. 'Course it wasn't the British Iles at the time, and it still actually had a forest…) the cold sting of iron woke me up before I realized what I was grabbing for. I jumped back with a yelp.

"Uh… actually I was hoping for steel nails…" I muttered, hoping the old man knew nothing of magic (I doubt it, there wasn't a lick of magic for a hundred miles) and tried to think of an excuse. "I, uh, have allergies." Stupid excuse. This is why my intellect is typically used in the form of witty comments and strategic escapes.

The man blinked and then turned around, waddling back to a large wooden chest, tittering to himself, "How horrible. Why my nephew used to have the worst allergy to an ingredient they put in cement – he had to move out of the cities in the end…"

I shifted uncomfortably. (Knowing there's iron about tends to set you on edge. You start to feel its sting even when its not there.) To distract myself, I went and retrieved the rocking chair from atop his oak table and brought it back to the door. Then I sat in it and rocked about for a few minutes.

"Oh shoot." I looked up to see a wrinkly old face a little too close for comfort, "You don't have a copper allergy do you? I know copper isn't as strong but we're out of steel… Though if you really want them I'm sure Tallulah has some…"

"Steel's fine – No need to bother her."

The old man chuckled and handed me the nails, "I think you mean _him_."

"Oh." I awkwardly took the supplies not sure if I should apologize. I decided an almighty being such as myself didn't really ever have faults and thus there was nothing to apologies for – from my awesome mouth it was a compliment er, or, something…. Dropping that line of thought I asked, "Do you have any wood planks?" and tuned the man out with a few, _mmhmm_'s when he started some stupid story desperately waiting for the wood to appear so I could finally leave the landlord's stupid house. I just wanted to do something useful to eat up my time (But of course anything I did would be useful – to _me_ of course. I meant useful to others, geez); I sure as hell didn't want to spend it talking to this old bat.

It was only another handful of minutes until I was back in Nat's room getting ready to seal up the his only window. I thought about sealing the door too just to spite him but remembered that humans are stuck in their one form and I would successfully trap him outside if I did so (This of course made the idea that much more appealing and it took a very long and feeble list of why I shouldn't do it verses why I _should_ before I finally left it alone).

I had the wood and nails all ready but forgot about the hammer. With a groan I went back into the kitchen and started rummaging through drawers.

I pulled a drawer open, found nothing, and moved on to the next. This turned out to be a tedious and annoying process, as there were about thirty stupid drawers – which is weird, considering how small his stupid kitchen is.

"Where –" No hammer, slam that one closed. "IS –" Another empty one. "That _STUPID_–" Still nothing. "HAMMER?" Nada. "It's –" Nothing. "Gotta–" Zilch. "Be–" Zip. "_SOMEWHERE!_" Absolutely nothing. "OH _COME O – _why _hello_." It wasn't the stupid hammer but it still was pretty interesting.

There, shoved under a tablecloth to the back of the drawer, was a beat-up little green book. I recognized it immediately. I'd first seen it when I scryed Nat and found out the arsehole was still alive.

His sketchbook.

"Well, well…" I muttered, picking it up with a devious sense of glee. "Now I wonder what it is he draws in his free time?"

I flipped it open and immediately found a picture of Kitty before her trip to the Other Place. I raised an eyebrow. Of course he'd draw her, I remembered all too well how crazy he got near her when we were one – big personalities like them just seemed to gravitate towards one another. I felt a little stab of some emotion and decided to move on, flipping the page to a landscape.

Now this was odd. It was a market place, in fact the very one Ptolemy used to go to smell the spices and be seen by his people. That didn't make any sense; the place was long gone and buried. I vaguely remembered a brag of Nathaniel's a few years back, how he could read quickly and remember accurately when I asked him how he knew all the groceries we were carrying to Lovelace's place. And boy, were the drawings accurate. I briefly wondered if he'd memorized all the snatches of my memories he'd seen when I was in him.

I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about that. Violated almost.

Irritated, I flipped the page and paused. My breath caught in my throat. Ptolemy. The drawing had far more details than the two previous, I could even make out the little cut under his chin, the swell of muscles in his legs as he lounged. I was so caught up in the sight of Ptolemy, as it was rare that I saw him myself, since I only wore his guise, it at first didn't really register what the drawing really was.

Nathaniel didn't know Ptolemy, wasn't even aware that was the name of this guise… but he hadn't really drawn _me_ had he? Maybe that wasn't _too_ odd, I mean, he drew Kitty too…

I flipped the page and found one of my gargoyle guises. Again, it was meticulously detailed, more so than the others. At first seeing so many images of my guises was slightly disturbing, but as I got used to the idea I found myself smiling to myself. The kid would be completely _humiliated_ if I told him I knew how much he missed me – the stupid sap. I felt almost smug at the idea.

I'd only thought of the prat because I thought him dead, but him? Well, it looks like I stumbled upon a juicy little secret.

I hummed to myself, flipping through the pages. They were actually quiet good. There was another of Kitty; several of places I knew Natty didn't even know the name of, stolen from my memories no doubt. But as I looked through the drawings, my good humor started to evaporate. Rather than just a friendly thing there seemed to be something more _intimate _behind the drawing that was starting to make me uncomfortable. In fact, the closer I looked, I found that there were hints of me on every page.

The landscapes were all places from my memories.

The Kitty drawings were all of her through our conjoined eyes, when my seven planes of vision cast a certain light on her. Even the one at the front seemed to have a hidden meaning. This Kitty's body type was slightly off, her eyes too bright and colored wrong. I soon realized it wasn't Kitty at all, but a _guise_ of Kitty. In other words, another drawing of _me_.

I squirmed, starting to feel self-conscious. I don't care how good the kid's memory is, to remember all my guises to this level of _detail_. Half of them _I _didn't even remember!

I felt some whispering stirring inside me, agitating me. The next drawing I saw proved to be too much. It was a picture of a gimp frog – it looked completely horrendous, and next to it a pile of slime.

I slammed the book shut, blushing furiously.

That stupid picture depicted in stunning, picture perfect, colored pencil detail the weakest I'd ever been I my life.

I couldn't have been more humiliated if I had found an erotic picture of myself.

To me, that stupid image was as bad as being exposed in the worst way. And the fact that it wasn't just a picture, but a drawing, that Nathaniel had probably spent hours meticulously recreating made me want to die with shame. (Or just _kill_ him – I was open to suggestions. I mean, why should the marvelous and almighty Bartimaeus have to suffer? It was all the kids fault and whatever consequence I delivered were his just deserts).

I tossed it on the couch, uncaring if Nat knew I'd gotten into it, and paced about furiously. Desperate to get my mind off it, and how badly I wanted to kill that little brat, I went back to his window and started boarding it up.

Since I had no hammer, I beat the nails in place with my hand; I think the pain helped me keep my sanity.

When I was finally done I flopped down on his bed on my back and stared at his ceiling for a while, my hands folded neatly on my stomach, my thoughts a confusing jumble.

For Nat to have drawn so many pictures in only a few months… More than just missing me, wasn't that a bit obsessive? Should I be worried? But the boy hadn't seemed any different from the last time I saw him. He was still such an obnoxious little prat, surely he didn't care for me – especially not to _that_ degree.

Maybe it was just a magician thing. Keeping records and all that. I mean, Ptolemy wrote about me all the time, even before he cared for me. And in the two thousand years since losing him I never bothered to root through another magician's things – maybe that sort of thing was common? But I knew that wasn't true, I only indulged in the thought because it helped the shock. (More like it helped me keep from vomiting. If he drew me this much I shudder to think what _else_ the boy did while thinking of me.)

My thoughts were winding in these confused twisted circles for so long I didn't realize how late it was. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the first thunderclap. The storm was starting.

With a sigh I got up to my feet and looked towards the front door.

Nathaniel wasn't back yet.

He'd told me he'd be back before the storm. Well, not _told _so much as implied… so where the hell was he?

Not that I cared of course.

I looked nervously to the wind, chided myself and mucked up the kitchen to make a snack.

Still no Nat.

I re-cleaned the kitchen to kill time. The rain was really beginning to pour now. Wind picking up enough to hinder even the strongest of humans.

Where _is _he? Shouldn't he be back?

I paced about, nervously nibbling on my finger. I was more hyper aware of his absence thanks to that stupid sketchbook. Caught between wishing he was back to hoping I'd could be alone for a while longer. I wasn't entirely sure if I could face him. I wanted to talk, but I also wanted to disappear. I was certain I'd probably explode the second I saw him. (This wasn't just a jest. After my little blowout in the square I was beginning to realize that my emotions, annoyingly, could alter my guises to some degree and I wasn't entirely eager to see what this bottled up frustration could do – Ptolemy's form was already starting to blur with anxiety).

Thunder clashed again, further irritating me. I felt like someone was pulling steel wool over an open wound and I grew steadily agitated by the minute. I peered out the window and started keeping time, trying to figure out how late the jerk was.

I walked back into the living area and sat on the couch drumming my fingers, fidgeting in my seat, trying to pick up any noise that indicated his return.

It wasn't long before my irritation and the brewing storm turned my thoughts to paranoia. The old man had said a hurricane was coming. Despite my amazing repair job, water was beginning to leak into Nat's room. If he didn't come home soon, didn't get to shelter…

Or perhaps he'd already been injured and that's why he's so late. If so why the hell was I just sitting here, twiddling my thumbs?

I was caught between indecision and my paranoia only worsened. I only just found out the kid was still alive, if he went and got himself killed… I suddenly felt sick, my head pounded.

Before I could start panicking (Ok, so maybe I was already panicking, but only a _little_) I heard something at the stairwell, I jumped up immediately and strained my ears to pick up the sound over the storm.

"Geez… we're _soaked_. I'll get us towels when we get up there. But _please_ try to behave. If possible don't even talk to him." I felt my body slacken with relief at the sound of his voice but a rage quickly replaced this. Who the hell came back this late in a storm!

"God, Brit, _calm down_, I'm not going to do anything to – oh, hey, and you must be Bartimaeus!"

I'd rushed to the door and pulled it open, allowing some blonde I didn't know to step in. (Luckily my new surge of rage had allowed me to control my form. If I had opened the door a second sooner he would have seen a very _abstract_ boy). I brushed past the newcomer and the hand he'd stuck out towards me (what the hell was I supposed to do with _that_?) and confronted Nat. The boy was trying to push his wet locks out of his face when he caught sight of me. "Hey." He said, offering me a meek smile, his cheeks slightly red. Was he trying to be coy? Was he silently laughing at me? Did he know how freaked out I'd gotten? That bastard!

I tapped my foot and allowed him in, slamming the door rather loudly behind us. The blonde flinched. Fine, if Nat wanted an audience to this I didn't care, I was far beyond reason – I'd been sick with worry and the stupid idiot could only give me a 'hey?' Not to mention he was with his bloody friend all day so _why_ was he here? Didn't they have enough quality time splashing through puddles or whatever else moronic thing they did? (Although I think his presence helped me maintain further control over my guise – don't want to terrify the locals. And least, not _yet_).

I crossed my arms and scowled, Nat frowned and made a move to touch my arm, "What's up?"

"What's up?" I asked deathly quiet, I yanked my arm back and hissed, "Remember what you told me this morning? The stupid storms been going on for hours – where the hell were you!"

Nathaniel flinched, his eyes shifting to his friend, "I told you I went to a friend's place."

I glared at the mentioned friend for barely a second, he wasn't worth my time, "Yeah, you did. You also told me you'd be back before the storm."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side, away from his friend who was currently watching from the kitchen (more like cowering there. Wimp). "Look, can we not do this right now?"

I yanked my arm free yet again, "Do _what_ Nat? You don't want me to cause a scene in front of you bloody _friend_! Is that it Natty boy! I thought you didn't care about your damn reputation!"

"Look, I'm sorry I came back late, but I'm here, ok?" He shifted his voice to a whisper, "Now calm down before you cause a scene." (Oh I'd show him a scene).

"_Calm down!_" I spat, "_I'm beyond calm! _I just spent the past two hours wondering if you went and got you stupid arse killed and you want me to calm down!"

"Yes I do. I'll talk to you about this when you're calm, I'm not doing this in front of Brandon."

"Oh Brandon doesn't care." I looked over at the blonde, who was beginning to look a bit frightened, hiding behind the counter, who I assumed was Brandon. "You don't care, do you _Brandon_!"

"I…uh, well…" The boy stuttered stupidly, irritating me more.

"There see? He doesn't care. Now wanna tell me why your 'quick' visit took the whole damn day?"

"What are you? My _mum_?" Nathaniel scoffed. "I don't have to explain _anything_ to you."

"Right. You never do. You can just do whatever you please. I don't need to know if you're even alive let alone what bloody country you're in. Not ol' Bartimaeus, he's not good enough for an explanation – _is that it_?" I yelled with enough venom to take down a bull elephant – finding my bottled emotions finally worming their way through and practically possessing me and throwing away my sanity. I hated the feeling but was unable to control it, feeling paticularily hot despite the cool air.

"I knew I shouldn't have left you to stew over that." Natty growled, clenching his fists and getting in my face, "I already told you what happened, so _get over it_."

I gave him a little shove, not particularly liking how close he was, "I don't think I will Natty boy because, _guess what_, you still haven't told me _why _you abandoned me and Kitty or why you ran off to this stupid country in the first place!"

"I'm beginning to think this isn't just about me being a little late." Nat said dryly holding his ground, I laughed.

"Wow. Came up with that on you own, eh? Ladies and gents, I do believe we've got a _genius _here."

"Hey, guys, come on now. There's no reason to fight." The blonde was actually trying to intervene, I gave him the kind of look that would curdle milk and he shrank back.

"It's fine Brandon, he gets _obsessed_ about trivial things when left to his own devices." Nathaniel growled, apparently thinking he had some hold over the situation. I lost it.

"_ME! _Obsessed with _you!"_

"_You've been breathing down my neck since you got here! _So _sorry_ I can't spend the day holding your hand!_"_

"_I'M_ NOT THE ONE WHO'S BEEN OBSESSIVLY DRAWING ME SINCE YOU CAME HERE! WHAT THE HELL KIND OF DRAWINGS ARE _THESE_?" I picked the book up off the couch and threw it at him; it landed smack dab on the page of Ptolemy lounging.

He blushed and like the bastard magician he is, lied, "What? Th- THOSE HAVE _NOTHING_ TO DO WITH YOU!"

"Pshaw, _right!_ Like you just draw Ptolemy and gargoyles and buffalo for _fun_! _You're _the obsessed one!"

He snatched up the book and screamed, "It's a _memoir!_! There's Kitty in there too, or hadn't you noticed you _egoist_! Besides I'm not the one who's FLIPPING OUT JUST BECAUSE I'M A _LITTLE _LATE!"

"_LITTLE?_! THE STORM'S BEEN RAGING FOR HOURS!"

"So _what?_" He slammed the book on the counter and stepped close to me and hissed dangerously, "You're not my mother, why the fuck do _you _care!"

Normally, I don't swear in the presence of children, but as Nat himself had opened the flood gate I responded with an equally foul response, in English, so he could understand all it's glory. "IT'S A _FUCKING HURRICANE_!" I gestured towards his bedroom door which had water seeping under it to demonstrate the point, "Do you have any idea what they can _DO?_! Of course not! You'd rather frolic about like an idiot and experience it first hand and get yourself _killed_!" I gave him another shove, more to get him to back up than anything else. His proximity was starting to make me feel strange and I couldn't deal with another ounce of emotion if I wanted to maintain my form.

"God, calm the _fuck _down! It's a tiny little storm! So _WHAT _if I feel like running around in it?" He shoved me right back, ignoring my inner struggle, "That's MY bloody business, _NOT YOURS_! Why the hell should you _care_ what I do? Why the bloody hell should it matter to _YOU _if I kill myself!"

I couldn't believe my ears. Did he have _any _idea what the last year had been like for me? I exploded, "Because I've already dealt with thinking you dead for the past two hundred and forty two days! You think that's _FUN _you total idiot! Don't you fucking understand that _I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN?_"

"Oh please don't be so melodramatic, you-" But the arrogant prat's response was cut short but a stupid insane impulse of mine.

I swear these emotions were making me insane and stupid because in my five thousand years I'd never done anything so utterly and catastrophically moronic. Nothing so horribly, life threateningly idiotic and completely _disgusting_ as what I did next.

Spurred on by those stupid emotions, pushed past my breaking point, I had my hand on the scruff of Nat's neck before I could stop myself and pulled him close.

Far, far _too_ close.

I knew the second I crushed my lips to his that I'd fucked up worse than I'd ever done in my life.

At the time I couldn't have cared less.

Despite him freezing up, I'd pulled him close like he was the only damn thing in the world and if I dared let got I'd be thrown into some dark abyss, never to escape. My logic was completely consumed with a torrent of emotions and I felt a desperation coursing through me at the thought of ever losing this idiot again.

I could feel his soft, fragile body under mine – how truly vulnerable he was and the thought made me cling to him all the more.

He didn't taste how I'd expected a magician to – there wasn't a hint of the ugly John Mandrake in him as I kissed him, not even with the both of us at each other's throats. It wasn't a particular flavor really, more like a sensation – he felt grounded, stable and there was just a hint of peppermint, I'd noticed he had a large quantity hidden in one of his drawers and realized it was on of his few vices. How very typical of a child magician to be addicted to a candy rather than cigarettes or incense or something else so very much like the disgusting bureaucrat. (Not that I expected him to taste like summoning incense or anything – he hadn't been near the stuff for over half a year. It's a good thing too because summoning incense tend to have nasty things in it – like rosemary for one. It was just a surprise to me because I supposed I couldn't shake the image of his pompous magician self.)

I relished every bit of it, breathing in his warm sent, his soft skin on mine.

But all too quickly I came to my senses, my mind reeling with questions, screaming at my stupidity.

I suddenly realized what I was doing and my eyes snapped open, my body freezing up in a terror unlike any I'd ever experienced.

How could I be so _stupid!_

No, not just stupid.

This wasn't just stupidity it was, well, it was _horrid_ really.

I'd made a stupid, horrible, maddening mistake.

I pulled back rather rigidly, rather panicky, my hand slowly taking my command and releasing Nat, falling limply down his back and retracting itself to just under my lips.

I touched them.

Just once, the shock of what I'd done so fresh.

I felt a surge of tremors take over my body; I couldn't quiet process what had just happened. My legs suddenly gave way and I fell onto the couch, uncomprehending.

Nathaniel hadn't moved. His shoulders still coiled in tension, eyes wide with shock. He wasn't really looking anywhere, certainly not at me – he was dumbfounded. I couldn't blame him.

I wished he'd say something –_ anything_ but found myself thanking every god I'd ever heard of that he was just… quiet. Somehow the reaction was so horribly wrong, he should have been screaming. We hated each other – didn't we? I wasn't sure any more. Couldn't swallow past the lump in my throat.

Finally, awkwardly, I got up. I meant to say something but it just turned into a stutter and I fled the room. I knew this emotion and I didn't like it one bit. _Shame_. The door slammed behind me as I left – the noise deadening, ringing in my ears.

If Nat heard anything he did nothing to acknowledge it, leaving me to escape down the rickety steps.

Or so I thought.

The unfortunate truth of the matter is I left Nat's place and got halfway down the stairs before I had to backtrack.

That's right – _backtrack_. As in go _back_. Of course, I refused to actually go back in the apartment and instead decided to sit my sorry butt on the top stair.

Now being the amazing dijin I am, I can usually take anything nature tries to cook up. Except of course, a storm as bad as this one.

A being of fire and air tends to have a bit of a disadvantage against the wind and waters a hurricane dishes out. And while I would've been grateful to have the earth swallow me up or be entombed in silver or to just disappear or _anything_ that would get me away from that infuriating _child_;(I mean _really_. What is _wrong _with me? Why did I touch that… that… _disgusting magician_!) I unfortunately had enough sense in my head left to know that, while I was in turmoil now (And would probably be forever scarred by this moment) I _did_, in fact, want to wake up tomorrow. _Alive_.

And definitely _not _in the middle of the Pacific.

Which is probably where the hurricane would've dumped me if I'd been stupid enough to face it.

And I wasn't.

Unfortunately.

So I sat, outside boy's apartment, desperately wishing the storm away so I could go find a nice hole to curl up and die in.

**Poor, poor Bart. That would be a fail. :D**

**Question! Would you guys be up for a Brandon POV chapter? Possibly? And by the gods the last chappie got so many reviews! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! In response to you guys, I hope Bart and Nat isn't too OOC in this chappie - I did spend 8 chapters trying to build them up to this point so u can't say i didn't try - HOWEVER - I'd like to hear opinions! Oh and im sorry i had a life n made u guys wait for a new chappie :D**


	10. Tea & Coffee

**THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR AWESOME SUPPORT! :D**

**Seriously I was really running low in the inspiration department but your kind reviews helped me smash the writer's block! Horrible puns aside I wanna say a few things to a couple particularly interesting reviews. First off: metal-orgy I'm fairly certain its not, purely because steel is used in cars and Stroud apparently gave Barty a driver's license (albeit expired) in the canon story. And if it is – well im glad I made that typo cuz I was not thinking of it :D**

**Everyone who praised my awesome, the kiss, and the story in general: d'aaaaw you guys are awesome! So glad to hear the majority still think this is in character – I'm trying my best but anything noncanon – like romances – are always hard to not make OOC so im glad you guys approve. **

**Peck Forever: I particularly wanna thank you for being my first reviewer EVER and most frequent. I wanted to recognize that without your support I probably would've died a while ago. **

**YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! Now I have to disappoint you all by saying sadly this isn't a Brandon POV chappie BUT it has Brandon IN IT so yay! Also because I'm heading for Ohio I have plane time to write more! Whoo! **

_Nathaniel_

Nathaniel didn't quite know what to do with himself, his current composure reminiscent of a statue, frozen and unaware of the passage of time. Of course, being human, there were a few things that gave away the boy was still alive, like his shallow breaths for one, but these were few and certainly not very frequent. It was a wonder he hadn't suffocated yet. It was a distinct possibility that Nathaniel was hyperventilating, but if this was so the boy certainly didn't know it, he hardly had enough oxygen in his brain for anything beyond the most primitive thoughts and emotions at the moment.

The ex-magician was so caught up in his utter shock and inner turmoil that the room seemed to be spinning. In fact, if he hadn't heard a quiet chuckle, and latched on to the sound as a tether to the real world, he was sure he would have fainted. However, a former prestigious government agent could not be seen fainting at such a simple thing as a kiss, so Nat did what he was best at. He hid his emotions behind orders and a generally sour attitude.

The raven haired boy whipped around and shot the blonde a look that could curdle milk and snapped, "Don't you _dare_ say a bloody_ thing." _

Brandon, who had unsuccessfully tried to turn his chuckle into a cough took one look at Nat and burst out laughing. This of course set Nathaniel into a blind fury. Screeching at Brandon at first what was so damn funny and escalating into shrieks for him to shut the hell up. This quickly turned to violence as Nat hurled pillows, his sketchbook and anything else lying near the him that could be used as a projectile at Brandon. The prestigious ex-government magician went into a blind hissy fit to shut his friend up; his cheeks positively flaming, his inability to cope quickly pushing him over the edge.

Nathaniel's reaction did nothing to help the blonde boy who was practically blue in the face, cackling so hard he could not physically stand properly.

"This isn't _funny!_" Nat protested angrily and, with nothing left to throw, had begun frantically gesturing in every direction as he attempted to explain away on how many levels this was completely and utterly _wrong_ while Brandon fought to keep a straight face. The whole thing seemed to be nothing more than an overemotional interpretive dance. By the end of it Nat was so worked up and frustrated he was practically in tears and Brandon, seeing the break in projectiles and gesturing as his chance to calm his friend down, quickly started a monologue on why this was a good thing.

"You're just a little riled up is all, I'm sure you give it time and you'll be ok, _happy_ even, that this happened."

"And _how _exactly is that?" Nat shrieked angrily swiping at his cheeks and trying to control himself through deep breathing.

Seeing that the boy was on the brink of another emotional overload, Brandon quickly crossed the room and grabbed Nat by the elbows before he could find anything else to start throwing or, more likely, begin slamming his head against the walls.

Once the raven haired boy was successfully subdued and cussing up a storm Brandon gave him a crooked smile and gave him a gentle shake. "Caaaaalm down. Everything's good, alright?" He then enveloped Nathaniel in what any normal person would deem to be a very comforting hug. But the ex-magician had never been normal.

To Nat, who had never experienced any kind of human interaction beyond the cold world of politics, he wasn't entirely sure what to do. Not even Mrs. Underwood had ever dared hug the boy for fear of bringing down the wrath of her husband.

Because of this Nat experienced a very gut wrenching experience, his body unsure to react positively or to defend itself. His breath caught in his throat, tears pricking at his eyes, threatening to spill, until finally, something broke.

He reacted in the way that had kept him alive for a miraculous nineteen years. Defensively.

"G-_get off!_" Nathaniel screamed and, with surprising force, kneed Brandon in the stomach.

The blonde doubled over, grunting, allowing Nat to dash out the front door. Before Brandon had a chance to follow him out, the ex-magician had already tripped over the worst possible person in this scenario.

Bartimaeus.

Unable to face the storm, the dijin had been innocently sitting atop the staircase, far too immersed in his own troubles to hear the pandemonium going on inside the little apartment. So it goes to say that the false boy was a little more than surprised when Nathaniel crashed into him with enough force to send them down the flight of stairs.

Lucky for Nathaniel dijins have incredible reflexes; before Bartimaeus was entirely sure what was happening he had already latched onto the railing and caught Nathaniel around the torso, preventing the boy from breaking his neck.

Not so luckily, Nathaniel was still currently having a panic attack. He caught the dijin's eye for a fraction of a second, what seemed like an eternity to both, and immediately started screaming bloody murder, trying to pull away from the Egyptian.

Normally a flailing human boy would prove no problem for a physically superior dijin to hold onto and haul back up a few stairs but as luck would have it their precarious position made it almost impossible. Nathaniel was currently halfway sprawled across Bartimaeus' lap and half suspended over a flight of stairs. Before the dijin could get a better grip to alleviate the awkward position or transform into something that could prevent the screaming boy from cracking his skull open, Brandon appeared at the top of the stairs, gave a panicked yell and immediately grabbed onto the false boy in an attempt to drag them both up the stairs to safety.

Less than helpful, the added weight quickly sent all three of them tumbling down the stairs with poor Bartimaeus grudgingly breaking the fall by allowing the two boys to use him as a cushion.

Naturally, the end of the staircase just so happened to have no eaves or sheltering and all three boys landed in a tangled mass in the rain. They were all soaked and wind whipped in about five seconds.

This did not perturb Nathaniel in the least. The cold water snapped him back to his senses and in less than a second he was trying to shove Brandon off him and complaining, "That's just _perfect!_ What the bloody hell are _you_ still doing here?"

This was clearly directed at the poor false boy, Nathaniel was sitting on and quiet possibly crushing.

The dijin had a rather foul frown on his amber face and spat, "You're welcome." He then gave the boy a particularly painful shove and managed to sit up slightly, alleviating his bent neck, unnatural and incredibly uncomfortable position. For a moment Nathaniel was sorely disappointed the dijin wasn't human – if he was he surely would have died.

"For _what? _Look what you did you horrible spi-" Remembering Brandon, Nat forcefully spat, "_servant_!" to cover what would have otherwise been a very interesting miscommunication.

Bartimaeus' face seemed to suggest he liked the word 'servant' almost as little as the word 'demon'. He sarcasm came out full force. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't hear you on account of that amazing rescue just then. My apologizes o my _master_, next time I'll be sure to let you crack open your pompous little skull."

"GUYS! Not the time." Brandon, always the voice of reason, growled, sitting up and trying to extract himself from the jumble and simultaneously dodge rain droplets, "You can argue when we're inside and not at risk of pneumonia!"

"I'm sorry. Did you just suggest I go and barricade myself in my own house with this _thing_?" Nat growled, pulling himself painfully to his feet.

"Oh really _can I_?" Bartimaeus said with mock awe, "That would _really_ make my day you know. I'd _love_ to be stuck in the same room for who knows how long with this perfect little prat."

"Oh my god, just get in the damn house." Brandon groaned and was already pulling the fake boy to his feet, attempting to herd the squabbling pair inside. Nathaniel took the lead, muttering darkly as he descended the stairs.

The second they entered the apartment the current raging argument between former master and servant was put to an abrupt halt as Nathaniel, who had wandered into the kitchen, suddenly slammed his head against the counter, face first, with an indistinguishable noise.

While neither were incredibly thrilled at the idea of being stuck together Nat was so drained from his fit – not that he would ever dare call it that – he no longer cared. At least not for the moment. For now, he needed some down time, maybe even – he shuddered to think of it, _coffee_. Today had been a _very_ long day.

He continued to ignore his arguing counterpart until, insulted that he was being ignored, Bartimaeus plopped down on the couch with a huff, folding his arms firmly across his chest in a huff.

Brandon, unsure what to do between the pouting dijin and the boy collapsed on the counter finally decided, after one long awkward moment, to try and comfort Nat. "Uh, Brit?" He asked hesitantly. Unsure if he should try shaking the boy or even check his pulse. Lord knows the boy wasn't moving.

The boy in question waved his hand dismissively, proving that he had _not_ died upon the counter as of yet, and muttered something that sounded like "_Sit._"

Immediately, blonde plopped himself down on the ancient couch and awaited further instruction – none one too keen on sending Nathaniel on another rampage.

He waited anxiously and when it was abundantly clear that the pale teen was planning on staying in his dreadfully uncomfortable position for some time to come, Brandon again tried to console his friend.

Nathaniel, having none of that, held up a hand, pointer finger extended, head still facedown on the counter indicating that he needed another minute or so as he was. Brandon fell silent and waited for one long excruciating minute, uncomfortably squashed against the sulking Bartimaeus on the tiny couch, until Nathaniel finally alleviated the silence by pulling his head off the counter with a groan. Leaning heavily on the counter with one arm, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, he muttered darkly, "I need some coffee."

At this Bartimaeus, who was busy trying to blend into the scenery as best as one can when trapped in the form of a young Egyptian boy, decided to question his former master with something akin to disbelief, his false eyebrows arching comically, "_You_ drink coffee? _You_, who always complained that the council never had proper tea at the refreshment table and _god forbid_ the British don't have tea at _any _event. Didn't you make your poor assistant cry when she brought you a cup of coffee? I think you did, even made the poor thing listen to one of your god awful monologues. Why on earth are _you_ drinking coffee?"

"Don't even get me started. First off that girl had every bit of it coming to her but that's not important right now." Nathaniel cast an irritated glare at the false boy and tiredly jabbed at the coffee machine. He explained, "Normally I wouldn't touch the stuff but American tea is beyond horrible and I think at the moment I need something _much_ stronger if I'm to keep my sanity." He busied himself with getting down some mugs leaving Brandon to defend his country.

"Hey there! Of course American tea is bad – it's the watered down dregs you Brits send us. We're not good enough for _proper_ tea apparently." At this Bartimaeus muttered something along the lines of "Maybe if you hadn't dumped all the good tea into the _ocean_…" but the blonde ignored him and concluded. "Besides, coffee is the superior drink anyway."

"Brandon." Nathaniel was busy arranging the cups in a perfect little triangle. He glanced up dangerously from beneath his lashes, "I think its safe to say that if you wish to stay in this apartment and _not_ be thrown to that hurricane, you will shut your gob and I will pretend you did not just insult me with your offensive coffee loyalties. If I had access to decent tea I would _never_ subject myself to this horrid drink. _Don't_ forget that."

Brandon blinked stupidly and watched his slightly deranged friend go back to arranging the cups. As soon as Nat turned around to retrieve the coffee pot, Brandon leaned conspiratorially toward Bartimaeus and hesitantly asked, "He… that wasn't serious, right? I mean, he was joking, right?"

"Oh no." The dijin flashed an amused smile, and rested his chin casually in his hands, "He's dead serious. Be glad he's still a little shell shocked; if I have to hear his tea monologue one more time I swear I'll kill myself. Trust me, you _never_ wanna hear _that_."

"Well actually, yes I do. He has a whole monologue?"

"Oh you bet. It's reminiscent of a war speech too, he's gotten more than a few people riled up with it." The false boy shrugged, "If you really wanna hear it it's your funeral. Do try to ask him when I'm not around. Oh and make sure he's not near sharp objects, like, say, in a kitchen. He tends to get rather emotional with this – can't imagine why."

Before Brandon could object Nathaniel placed a jug of milk on the counter with a resounding 'thud'. He already had his coffee and was busy drowning it with sugar and milk, he looked up irritably and said, "If you want any hurry up and take it," with a gesture towards two steaming mugs of the stuff.

Brandon got up and conversationally asked Bartimaeus if he wanted one and what he'd like in it, then brought the completed drink over to the dijin with a akin to a peace offering.

They were about halfway through their coffee when the blonde decided to tread dangerous waters, "Soooo… Are we just gunna go ahead and pretend that that movie-esque kiss just never happened?"

Nat actually did a spit take, spraying the amber liquid everywhere, and promptly began choking violently, already having locked the incident into the darkest corners of his mind.

Bartimaeus, however, continued calmly drinking his coffee and responded, "That's the plan."

Brandon raised and eyebrow, momentarily ignoring the pale teen and said sarcastically. "Oh that's cool. I just get to sit here and watch you two drown in sexual tension for the next few days?"

"Yup."

"_THERE IS NO SEXUAL TENSION_!" Nathaniel, still choking ever so slightly, felt the need to interject into the conversation to clear up the madness. Bartimaeus was quick to agree with the boy.

"Obviously not Nat." He said soothingly, "I mean really, who'd be attracted to you? I must've momentarily come down with a case of brain worms. My bad."

"_Your bad!" _The ex-magician floundered for words, the coffee long since forgotten. "You don't just… just… do _THAT _and then wipe it away with a _my bad_ you horrible-"

"Soooo… this is good coffee right? Yeah. Of course it is. Let's talk about coffee, really, I'm sorry I asked." Brandon awkwardly interjected, casting his hazel eyes about nervously.

"_WHY DID YOU BRING IT UP, THEN!"_

"Why? Oh no reason." He quickly drained the mug, set it on the table and stood, "Now excuse me as I go spend an extended amount of time in your bathroom to nurse my stomach wound, _Nathaniel,_" a quick pouty glare there, "where I can't hear your screams. Try not to kill each other."

"Wait. What you -" Nat stared in disbelief for a moment before he realized what Brandon was trying to pull. "_Get back here right now you_ –" but the boy had already disappeared into the other room, leaving him with a devilishly smiling dijin.

"Annnnnnd he's gone." The creature chuckled.

"Fantastic." Nat growled and immediately began to rise out his cup so he wouldn't have to look his ex-servant in the face.

"I guess. Well I _suppose_ we're supposed to talk now." He couldn't see him as he risnsed the dish in scalding water, but Nat could imagine the false boy staring into his mug, tracing the rim lightly, contemplating whether or no to push the matter.

Nathaniel for one, did not want the matter pushed, so he flashed the spirit a smile and apologized, "Oh I'm sorry, I have to clean the floors right now – some incompetent moron left batter all over them."

Bartimaeus was on his feet in a second, "Hey! I happen to be an excellent – " He paused in disbelief as his former master actually sat down in an attempt to hide behind the counter. Annoyed, the false boy rounded the counter and scolded, "Oh yes, _very mature_ Mr. Big Time Magician, let's hide on the floor and pretend there isn't a giant elephant parading about the room."

The boy avoided meeting the dijins eye and instead cast his own blue orbs about the room saying, "I see no elephant. There is no elephant. _Why _would an elephant be in my apartment?"

"Nat, be serious." The Egyptian boy growled and came to sit cross legged before the boy, "I think we need to talk. I'm not exactly keen on it myself but if we're stuck here anyway…"

Nathaniel cast his eyes about in a worried fashion for a second or two and, upon seeing no way out, let out a weary sigh and waved for the dijin to continue. "Fine."

**Yay! Now they can talk about their feelings! Now review – REVIEW YOU FOOLS! And I **_**might**_** be merciful in updating! Also -plane landed in Buffalo, seeing the Falls :D**


	11. Stay

**Guess what everyone! I almost got in a plane crash! Yaaaaay… D:**

**IT WAS HORRIFYING! **

**Anyone wondering why this chappie is late its because I absolutely REFUSED to do anything but hold onto my armrests fer dear life the whole goddam three hours I was on that plane. And I was still so terrified at the thought of having ANOTHER two hours to go in an even SMALLER plane… well, there was no writing to be had. THE END. I am sorry. And terrified. Just when I get over my car phobia BAM! Plane phobia. **

**Murphy's Law and Karma are absolute bitches! Tho murphy DID cut me a break, the plane didn't go **_**down**_** just rattle around a bit and dropped a horrifying forty or more feet before stabilizing. O.O I was not pleased. **

**My complete and utter life scarring terror aside… I have some responses to you guys!**

**Yaaaaaay responses actually directed at someone!**

**Carrol****: Just so u know, it's because Bartimaus is an airhead. Get it – being of fire and AIR; airhead! *cough cough* Ehem, **_**anyway**_** after Nat's 'death' he began to think of him as Nathaniel instead of John Mandrake again – last book he suddenly stops calling him 'John' in his POV and goes back to his pet names and Nathaniel. Because Bartimaeus had a run in with Kitty in the 3****rd**** book in which he reveals Nat's name and doesn't realize it until it is pointed out to him, and thus swifty changes topics and later when he notices Kitty's use of it almost immediately when he is again grudging of Nat. It seems to me that, depending on his emotional frame of mind and the way he views Nat at the time – i.e. magician vs. the young boy reminiscent of Ptolemy - he is less likely to notice when others use Nathaniel's given name vs birth name. I believe in the situation he was in, after screaming Nat's name everywhere and not once being reprimanded, as well as being in a non magical country – he would grow more complacent and hyper aware of the boy himself, rather than ways people addressed him. None – the – less you will see Bartimaeus picking up on the oddity of it later in this chapter – but not until it is pointed out to him. I think that, with the way his mind works, the events occurring and his new odd traits, he'd have a little too much to think about to fully recognize it enough to question it himself. Oh he'd take note sure – but I don't think he'd really register it until it was spelled out for him. Hope that helps with the confusion! Obviously I couldn't have a whole explanation arch in the story so im glad someone brought it up! :D **

**Peckforever:**** Thank you! You're pretty awesome, ya know? :D and yes, yes Nat is quiet ze brat – but he's best when he's cuddly AND vicious. Like a rabid cat. Daaaaaaaaw. It's a wonder Barty ever chose to save his life at this point, I'd probably throw him down the stairs myself buuuuut meh. And im really glad u think they are still in character – its getting harder to do as they veer further away from the canon plot line so im counting on you guys to slap me into shape if it gets too OOC!**

**Suicidal Liebe: Daaaaaaaaaaaaaw. Your comment was so incredibly sweet. I am so happy I was able to inspire you and I would LOVE to read one of your stories. The way the comment is worded it seems to me you're quiet good at it. Again, thank you for this awesome comment, it really made my day! **

**Metal-orgy****: Nat doesn't like **_**anything**_** in my story. ;) Plus he's a whiner, Barty isn't too fond of them either but isn't as prone to belly aching as much as Nat. THE END. I HAVE SPOKEN!**

**Maria Rianki****: THANK YOU! D'aaaw your review seriously made my day – so glad you like it! :D**

**To everyone else thanks again for your WONDERFUL support. Really truly, I appreciate every bit of it! Also, I may have to go into underground hiding as YET ANOTHER one of you wants to eat my face in a painful fashion *cough* NatCat129 *cough* and thus any further chapters will be from an underground bunkers somewhere off the coast of a secret chain of writers islands. **

**Also – no one noticed Brandon's eye color changing, I was curious if anyone would notice and you sadly disappointed me. I AM DISPLEASED! D:**

**Sorry fer all da babbling… ON TO DA STORY!**

_Bartimaeus_

"Fine." Nathaniel sulked when it became apparent escape was not an option.

"Alright then." I said, a little surprised Nat didn't put up more of a fight – although to be fair he already threw a temper tantrum. He _did _seem a bit tired. Maybe what he needed was a good ol' nap. Not that he would get one, that is. I still had questions unanswered and general confusion to talk about. Trouble was, I had no idea how to start.

"So?" The boy hedged, hesitantly when I said nothing else. I was too busy wracking my mind for the least painful or humiliating way to go about this conversation.

"_So_," I ventured, clapping my hangs together in an attempt to muster some enthusiasm.

"So _what_?" Nathaniel hissed not even sparing a glance at me, glaring a hole in his bedroom door, probably cursing that blonde kid hiding in there. Poor lil Natty he just… wait a minute. Something I hadn't entirely noticed before (because I was too busy trying to figure out if it was possible to escape and avoid this horrid awkward talking business) suddenly came to mind.

"Hey, what did Brenan call you just then?" I asked suspiciously.

"It's _Brandon._" Nat huffed and ran his fingers through his hair as if exasperated, "And _please_ don't ask me about that stupid nickname of his.

"What nickname? That wasn't a nickname just then." I wasn't truly aware that this Brandon fellow even had a nickname for Nat; I hadn't exactly cared to listen to much of what he said. No, what I wanted to know is if Brandon had just used Nathaniel's birth name before disappearing into the bedroom. And why. Kitty I could understand, but now some American twit? Surely I misheard, he must've said John or something, right?

Nathaniel sighed and, with the tone someone might use to address a mentally handicapped person said, "That's because it was my _name_. Don't tell me you've forgotten it already – you never missed a chance to rub the fact that you knew it in my face after all."

I stared at him for a second. How nonchalant he was, like it was no big deal. I couldn't take it, "He knows your _birth name_? After every little whine and complaint you had about Americans you go and tell one your _birth name_? You haven't even been here a year – are you really so stupid-"

"Shush." Nat sighed, placing a finger over my mouth with more force than necessary. He glared at me, and I could make out little bags under his light eyes. "You're giving me a headache." He pulled back and massaged his temple, pointedly ignoring my curious looks until I slumped back a little.

He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his cheek (Let's assume that whenever I say cheek it means his _face_.) on them with an air of exasperation.

"Don't laugh. Or get mad. Or do… just _anything_ Bartimaeus-y."

"Uh… Bartimaeus-y?" I questioned. He shot me a look.

"Alright," He quickly ran a hand through his shorn black locks (Ah magicians, you gotta love 'em. Or not. I would seriously suggest not.) and wetted his lips in a rather nervous fashion. "Brandon didn't call me by my birth name-"

I let out a false breath, feeling oddly relieved. "Oh that's good. I supposed I just heard him wrong on account of all the excitement and whatnot."

"No. He called me Nathaniel."

"But-"

"It's not my birth name, well, it _is_ but it's also just a name. My _only _name. I'm… well, I'm not a magician anymore." He cast me a nervous look.

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

I blinked once and then burst out laughing.

"Stop that." He said rather crossly. "It's not joke."

"Of course it's a joke!" I laughed, "You can't just stop being a magician – I think you mean to say you're incognito. Is that why you left? Got tired of your duties? But even so I don't think you want to give out your birth name willy nilly – could get you in a spot of trouble."

"It's not a joke, and I'm not incognito." He said stubbornly, "I'm a commoner. And handing out my name will do no such thing."

I sighed, hoo boy. He really didn't know what he was saying. "Nat. You can't just stop being a magician."

"And why not? Didn't you tell me to do just that when I first met you? I seem to remember you were keen on me becoming a sewer rat."

"Well that's because it suited you just fine." He made a face at that, "But it doesn't mean you wouldn't be a magician – you'd just be lying low really. That's what I meant. You can't really stop being what you are."

He drummed his fingers in an annoyed fashion atop his knee. "I need no such permission from _you_." He waved his hand, rolling it on his wrist, "Look about you, do you see any candles or incense or circles about you?"

"Well, no-"

"This isn't London, and this isn't and overpriced townhouse. And you, though I don't understand _why_, are here of your own free will. So tell me, how is it that I'm still a magician? I've done no conjuring or enslaving since I got here – I even help Darren on his fishing boat. I'm nothing more than a commoner."

"That there is why you're still a magician." I sighed, resting a hand on Ptolemy's knee.

"What?"

I fixed him with my gaze and said, "The way you talk, that pompous little attitude of yours, the way you keep running your hand through your hair," He paused in mid-preen and scowled, "_That's_ why you're still a magician. You can lay low all you want but it still doesn't change your history, what you are. Heck, for all I know, you'll be back in Britain in a few years summoning me for yet another meaningless and impossible task for little to no gratitude. Face it Natty boy, it's what you _are_. And if you want to prance about telling people your birth name for the time being that's fine by me, just don't be surprised when some other magician off's you for it."

"You're wrong." He whispered, drawing his legs in even closer.

"No I'm not. You're born a magician, you die a magician. Doesn't matter what you choose to do with your life."

"Maybe, but you're forgetting one thing." Nat said.

"What's that?"

"I'm already dead remember? There is no magician named John Mandrake, I know that for fact. I checked the records before moving here. So how can I be a dead person?"

I opened my mouth to say something, closed it, and sighed. "As clever as that might be Nathaniel, it doesn't change the fact that _you're_ still alive. You tend to have a knack for ruining whatever good things you have going. Like what you had with Kitty." I caught his eyes there, his ears reddening with shame, "You ever going to tell me why you broke that promise? You could have stayed in Britain and done whatever soul question you're attempting to do there – you know that, right?"

"No I couldn't." He sighed, his eyes brimming with tears, "Bartimaeus, I'm sure you understand right? If I had stayed there, with the city as it was, the way I am… I… just couldn't risk going back to that life. I won't go back to being a magician. I just… _can't_."

I didn't bother enlightening the kid with my amazing wisdom – how many other magicians had similar epiphanies only to return to their old ways as they aged. I suddenly understood why he had left Kitty and me, and felt a little sad at the thought.

He was burying his past.

He was trying to forget what he was so he wouldn't be tempted to go back.

I knew why he was so upset that I made that jibe about conquering London – he was truly afraid that he would do just that.

I wasn't entirely sure what to say. Maybe if Ptolemy had a similar line of thought he would've lived longer. Probably not. He was always in the public's eye. But Nathaniel… maybe he could actually get away with abandoning his magicianing ways.

No one knew he was alive, except for me.

There was no one who could hunt him down and drag him back into the world of magic like my old masters, everyone thought Mandrake was dead.

Suddenly I didn't feel like what I had wanted to talk about was even an option. It didn't matter what weird feeling he'd infected me with because he didn't want me here anyway. Surely he wouldn't want such a strong reminder of his past following him about. I was probably the last thing he'd ever want to see. I was his entire magical career laid out on a silver platter.

I cleared my throat, my mouth feeling suddenly very dry. "Do you want me to go?"

Nat's head shot up, his eyes surprised, "Go?" He echoed in awe, "I thought the storm was too strong."

"Not like that." I said quietly.

"You mean… like go away?" He still didn't quiet understand what I was getting at.

"Yes." I whispered; my stomach tying itself in knots, I felt like I was going to be sick. "You do remember what you told me earlier. I won't kill you, you know why. But… I will go away. If you'd like."

"Yes. I suppose so…" My heart dropped, he wouldn't even look at me. I had no idea the kid could be quiet so abrasive. "But I don't want you to go." Wait what? I jerked my head up and caught his eye, his cheeks flushed a light pink, "As for why, I can't say I know myself but… I suppose I don't want to lose you either…"

My heart slammed into my throat, hammering a mile a minute. "_What_?" Quiet as it was, my voice sounded strained even to my ears.

"Don't make me repeat it." He muttered hiding his face behind his knees.

I swallowed, and stared down at Ptolemy's hands, a stifling silence descending about the room save for the quiet rumbling of the storm outside.

Every now and again I'd hear the crack of thunder or the rain fall a little heavier. I wasn't quiet sure why, perhaps it was the proximity of me and Nat, but even in the cool little room I remember feeling warm. Very warm indeed.

**Yaaaaay. There is closure! Sorta! :D **

**Now review! REVIEW if you wish to know what happens next!**


	12. Koala

_**THANK YOU ALL MY BEAUTIFUL REVIEWERS! YOUR SUPPORT IS WHAT KEEPS THIS STORY ALIVE! **_

_Nathaniel_

The two stayed in comfortable silence for a while. After some time, Nathaniel found the nerve to peek up from his knees.

The false boy was looking past him, an almost dreamy smile on his face, his position mirroring Nathaniel's – his knees draw to his chest, wrapped tightly in his bronze arms, soft cheek upon a knee.

The dijin must have sensed a change in the boy because he looked up, faint smile still etched upon his features, and for a fraction of a second blue met false gold before the ex-magician, blushing, quickly looked away with a pout.

"What are you so happy about?" The pale teen muttered grumpily, peeking back up at him.

The fake boy shrugged, that stupid smile still in place. "Nothing. I just realized how utterly insane we are, that's all. I'd almost expect to be hauled off to a padded room."

"Charming." Nathaniel said dryly. "Although I suppose I agree with you. This… well… I _suppose_ this isn't exactly what you'd call normal. Why are you sitting nonchalantly in my kitchen? Aren't you supposed to have eaten me by now? Or was I supposed to set the Shriveling Fire on you?" He muttered, "Although I guess I could count your cooking this morning as an assassination attempt." He shook his head, disbelieving and said; "Yet we haven't killed each other. I don't even know if we have the motivation anymore. I mean… I don't _entirely_ hate you… sorta. And that's just plain scary."

Bartimaeus snorted, "Tell me about it. I think rattling around your skull might have made me just as suicidal as you." He then briefly exchanged glances with Nat. "By the way, I don't entirely hate you too. Just mostly – but that's only because you're the world's biggest prat."

Nat scowled, "You're not exactly a gem yourself. And don't worry, I only mostly hate you too – and that's because you're then most obnoxious creature this side of the planet."

The dijin snorted, making his nose wrinkle in an _almost_ cute fashion. _Almost_. "This side? What, am I going to have to go defend my title? Pass."

Nat bit his lip, trying to hide a smile. Then said, in a gravely serious tone, "Sorry, I meant entire planet. Actually, make that universe."

"And don't you forget it." The time the snort actually was pretty cute. And Nat mentally kicked himself for thinking it.

He _must've_ been insanely tired to think such disgusting things. Or insane. After tonight's events Nathaniel was certain he wouldn't have a speck of sanity left.

Some distant part of his brain had clenched in dread, primitive fear that he was actually getting so cozy with a dijin. Truly terrified he dared think it cute.

But he wasn't listening to that part. Not right now.

He was tired. All he could think about was the heady warm sensation he got sitting on the floor, chatting with the false boy just inches away from him.

Tomorrow the ex-magician had to do some serious reflecting. There was probably something inherently wrong with him.

But tonight… he'd already throw a tantrum. And the coffee had made him warm and sleepy and chatting with Bartimaeus wasn't too horrible…

Nathaniel suddenly felt an odd desire to get to know the dijin. Sure they'd known each other for years, but he didn't really know anything. They never really talked before, squabbled, sure, but a civil conversation? Nathaniel chanced another glace up at the false boy and started, "Hey… uh…"

At that precise moment, Brandon leaned over the counter, hand cupped in his cheek and, very obnoxiously cut Nat off with, "So… not trying to cock block you or anything but I seriously cannot find your stupid towels. Help please."

Both ex-master-and-servant looked up to look at the blonde boy; he was still wet from the shower, wisps of steam coming off of him and his torso was completely bare.

With a roll of his eyes Nathaniel said, "Honestly. Did you even _try_ to find them? They are obviously in the top left hand cabinet in the far back. Right next to the bedding and between the shampoos."

"Oh sure, how could he _possibly_ miss that?" Bartimaeus quipped, "He obviously should know you don't use towel racks because of some insane germ phobia and that you absolutely _must_ put them in the highest and most inconvenient place possible to keep them dry and clean."

Brandon's eyes crinkled in amusement and he said, very seriously, "Of course. How silly of me. But despite this obviousness, would you help me find them anyway? Just fer kicks?"

"You should probably help him out, Nat. I bet you still have to go get a step ladder to reach them." Bartimaeus chuckled.

"Oh shut up." The pale boy growled, getting to his feet, watching the spirit with an annoyed eye. "And of course not. This place has low ceilings."

"Pfft. _Woooow_. So if the ceilings were, say ten or twelve feet?" Brandon asked.

"Then you'd probably need a step ladder. Or Tal." Nathaniel responded primly, he turned to the blonde to give him a pointed look, but quickly turned away, blushing, and shielding his eyes he squeaked, "Oh my god! Why the _hell _are you naked!"

"What part of no towels don't you understand?" Bartimaeus got to his feet, brushed his trousers a bit and started rummaging through the kitchen cabinets for food.

"You could have at least put your pants back on!" Nathaniel trilled, quickly stepping around Brandon blushing furiously and doing everything he could not to look at him. What bothered the pale teen the most wasn't exactly the fact that Brandon had interrupted his conversation with Bartimaeus but the fact that keeping his eyes trained on his bedroom door and not his friend was a lot harder than it _should_ have been.

The blonde shrugged his muscular shoulders, "Actually no. Some idiot thought it'd be fun to go running about in a hurricane, so sadly all my clothes are soaked."

Bartimaeus looked up from on of the cabinets holding a muffin and said sympathetically, "Sounds like a real prat."

"More like a prick but yeah."

"I still don't know what that means!" Nathaniel cried in frustration, "Now lets hurry up and get you a bloody towel before I claw my eyes out!" _Or jump you._ His teen boy hormones argued.

Nathaniel mentally kicked himself.

Fine. He could accept that he enjoyed Bartimaeus' company; and he was sort of ok with the idea of possibly liking him a _tiiiiiiiny_ bit more than a friend, _maybe._ But the idea that it wasn't just the spirits personality he was reacting to and now the idea that he was having trouble keeping his eyes of his _male_ friend was too much.

So maybe his life had turned into a real life horror film with a malicious twist of _Swans of Araby _possibly thrown into the mix as some divine form of torment.

Ok. Fine.

So Nathaniel wouldn't be slitting his wrists or jumping from a building anytime soon over this and he had more or less started feeling moderately less horrible about the idea. Of course he wasn't _happy_ about it but he could manage somehow.

But gay?

No, absolutely not.

Nathaniel was _not_ gay.

He was just having a hard time not looking because… well… he was a scrawny slip of a boy and was just jealous that he didn't have abs or muscles or whatever stupid thing Brandon had that Nat didn't that boys get jealous about.

Right. Sure. That was probably it.

And the room was just getting moderatly hot because three people were crammed in his tiny apartment thus overheating the entire place despite the fact a storm was raging and it was below forty outside.

Riiiiiiight.

Obviously the only logical answer.

"Well," Bartimaeus said, briefly snapping Nathaniel out of his struggle and slowly chewing his muffin, "If you _really_ wanna know all you have to look at your friend there."

"Well duh. We all have one." Brandon waggled his hips in demonstration; causing something on the lower half of his to flop around impressively and successfully catch the ex-magicians eye. Maybe a bit _too _successfully.

Blushing furiously, Nathaniel dashed into his bedroom, slamming the door with a shriek, "You're both positively _disgusting!_" He forced himself to think over some of the most horrific moments of his life as he tore through his cabinets in an attempt to keep his body under control.

That one time he almost accidentally killed himself with a confinement spell he was practicing. All the blood and horror and shame of that moment.

Yeah. That's good. Let's think about that.

Or that one time that stupid anarchist tried to kill him. That was scary as shit.

Yeah. Think about that. There wasn't anything sexy about a deranged lunatic sending a cult after you to slit your throat.

"Deep down you _know_ you liked it!" Brandon called back obnoxiously, ruining the ex-politician's breathing exercises. But luckily he had calmed down enough to go shut his idiot friend up before he said anything really bad, like what he was saying now; "Or maybe you're just upset that you saw me before-"

The boy grabbed the door and threw it open with one place hand, glaring a hole in the space _juuuuust_ behind Brandon so he wouldn't have to _look_ at him and screamed, "SHUT. UP. NOW." punctuating each of his sentences with a projectile of cloth that each smacked the blonde in the face with a satisfying '_thump_', "There. Now dry yourself off and put some bloody clothes on!"

Brandon chuckled softly quickly drying himself with the overly fluffy towel, "What's the matter? Too much man for you?"

"Or maybe too little." Bartimaeus muttered around a bite of muffin, sitting nonchalantly on the counter but Nathaniel didn't miss the sour look the dijin shot the other boy.

He sighed, really hoping that Brandon missed that comment, but he supposed that was impossible since he heard it and he was farthest from the dijin.

The American flashed the spirit an irritated glare and said, "Because I am the _bigger_ person. I will ignore that."

There was something about the way the boy had said 'bigger' and then pulled his pants on in a suggestive manner that was faintly irritating but Nathaniel couldn't understand why. Looking at the irritated expression on the false boy's caramel face, however, he guessed he understood just fine.

With a roll of his eyes Nat left the room, trying to ignore the childish nonsensical argument that followed, quickly changed out of his damp clothes into fresh ones and grabbed a shirt and sweat pants from a drawer.

"Seriously, not getting into this with you." Brandon, still attempting to take the highroads, said with a huff trying to pull his shirt over his head but was having a tad bit of trouble because it was one of Nathaniel's, who was considerably smaller.

"Obviously not. You can't even get into it yourself." Bartimaeus said dryly, "Like I said, if you're such a _big_ person you can always try exercising."

Brandon glared. "This," He gestured to his stomach, "Is all muscle. Don't hate." At that moment the shirt ripped and Brandon, irritated tossed it aside.

"I'm not. That shirt doesn't seem too happy though." The dijin said solemnly.

"Dammit Brandon, I _liked_ that shirt!" Nathaniel pouted and stomped over to the fake boy, thrust the extra clothes at him telling his to dry off and hustled the blonde back into the bedroom.

"Nice jammies." Brandon snorted, watching his friend rustle through his drawers.

"Oh shut up." Nathaniel groused and pulled the hem of his blue pajama top down more and fished a large green shirt out of his drawer. "Here, don't ruin this one."

The American made a face and pulled the cloth over his head. It was a little snug but fit him nonetheless. He shot Nat a winning smile, "I'll do my best."

The ex-magician made an irritated noise and flopped down on his bed sighing. He reached under a pillow and tightened his finger around the tobacco tin hidden under the fabric and simply stared at the ceiling.

Brandon plopped on the bed after him and gave him a playful nudge, "So? You guys official now or what?"

"We possibly hate each other moderately less than previous, maybe." Nat stated mechanically, listening to the storm rage.

"How romantic."

Nathaniel snorted, letting his eyes drift closed.

Brandon shifted himself so he was lying parallel to Nat, his hands folded neatly on his belly. "So… am I correct in assuming there's a bit of denial going on in both parties?"

The teen hummed sleepily and, thumbing the tobacco tin, said, "I could care less at the moment. Why don't you pick another subject to nitpick at?"

The blonde blew at a piece of hair that fell into his eyes and said, "Well then I gotta know; is there any particular reason why Bart calls you Nat? Or why you don't have a nickname for him, I mean Bartimaeus is quite the mouthful."

Nathaniel is not about to explain to Brandon that the only way to bind a spirit to one's will is by using the full form of one of their given names and that, after six years of binding the poor spirit to useless tasks he'd find it incredibly odd and almost detrimental to call the spirit anything else. Instead he shrugs, "I don't particularly like nicknames. And you can ask him yourself."

"Fiiiiiiiiiine." The American groaned like it was the most difficult thing in the world and then shouted, "Bartimaeus, get yo cynical butt in here before I make you!"

Nathaniel winced and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

Was it too much to ask that his guests be civil with one another? Apparently so.

"Pardon the intrusion." Bartimaeus appeared at the doorframe wearing nothing but the sweatpants Nathaniel forced on him and holding his half eaten muffin. He regarded the muffin like a world-weary traveler and leaned against the doorframe, showing an impressive expanse of dark torso. "But Natty boy I do believe its time to get this building assessed. I just heard the most _awful_ sound coming from in here. Maybe call the cops, I'm no professional but it almost sounded like someone dying."

"Wha-" Brandon spluttered, sitting up to glare at the false boy in disbelief, "Aw _hell _no you did not just-"

"Oh be quiet." Nathaniel growled, sitting up to put a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "What kind of response did you expect to get from that anyway? Aren't you supposed to be taking the high roads or something?" He cast his cold blue eyes on the false boy then, assessing, and then said slowly, "Exactly how many of my muffins have you devoured in the past five minutes?"

Nathaniel was no expert on muffins, but the one Bartimaeus had been holding when they left the living room had been brown, chocolate maybe, this one was tan and speckled with blue dots.

"Hmmmmm…" The dijin looked up at the ceiling pondering and with his other hand started holding up fingers. He stopped when had all but the pinky finger unfurled, "Maybe four?"

"That's fantastic, I should have known you'd be a bottomless pit." Nathaniel growled and flopped back down on the bed in irritation.

The Egyptian boy shrugged. "And who's fault is that?"

"Look. Word of the wise Bartimaeus but carbs do not fill people up. Go eat some protein or something. Why don't you eat those fish ball things you made?"

"Uh… fish balls?" Brandon dared question.

"Not as horrible as it sounds." Nathaniel assured.

The spirit snorted, "You're welcome by the way. And I ate the last of those for lunch because _someone_ disappeared all day."

"Ignoring that." The pale teen let go of the tobacco tin and sat up, drew his knees to his chest and waved his hand in a 'shoo shoo' motion, "Go find some chicken or something then. We don't know how long the storm will last and seriously, those are my remedy to biscuits since America wouldn't know proper cuisine if it came up and bit them so I will be sorely displeased if you eat them all."

Brandon sat up immediately and glare at his British friend. "Ok. A) you can't use muffins as a replacement for biscuits. That's _disgusting_, B) I think its you Brits who need to go take a cooking class. Seriously. Crumpets! With goose liver mousse? What the _fuck _was that? My stomach will never be the same again."

"Maybe if we're talking those puffy, swollen excuse for a biscuit you twits have, those are absolutely disgusting. And _foie gras_ isn't British its what… French? German?" Nathaniel looked to Bartimaeus for help.

"Pfft. _No._" The dijin pushed away from the door and put a hand on his hip, "Nothing good ever comes from Europe. It's Egyptian or at least it originated there. I should know. And you have no idea how obnoxious it is to try and force feed geese to make them obscenely fat and then try and find the liver in all that blubber. Its horrible."

"Oh. Well, that sounds positively charming." Brandon paled.

Nathaniel perked up, eyes gleaming, "What? You know how to make _foie gras_! That's it. The second this storm is over I'm getting a goose and you are teaching me how to make it!"

"Lovely." Brandon groaned, dropping his chin into his hands, "I'll be at the pub eating the _actual_ goose like a normal person while you two go and dismantle the innards."

"But really, Nat," Bartimaeus thoughtfully nibbled on his forth muffin, "I can't believe you like _foie gras_. You practically threw a fit when I told you I put fish organs in the fish balls."

He shrugged, "Well, I'm not really used to eating fish organs now am I? But I guess it wasn't that horrible. I mean I do love haggis too, so I guess you were right about the flavor thing. For once."

"_For once!_" the false boy sputtered, "I'm always right one way or another and don't you forget it. And come to think of it you actually did eat a lot of those fancy foods too. I'll never understand your fascination with duck testicles_._"

"Well when you say it like that it sounds gross. They're called white duck kidneys and I suggest you try them before slandering them."

"No thanks. The name doesn't change that they're testicles. And I don't like duck anyway so I doubt I'd like their genitalia."

Brandon, who was steadily turning green throughout the conversation clapped his hands over his ears and shouted. "Ew. Ewe ew eww _ew_! _Shut up _both of you!" He shot Nathaniel a disgusted look, "Duck testicles? _Really?_ Ugh. I guess I can't be surprised that you'd like that though." Nathaniel turned bright red, not missing what the boy was insinuating, and made and indignant squeak but Brandon cut him off, "No. No more. I can't handle all these stupid foreign dishes. You're making me sick!"

Nathaniel and Bartimaeus stared at the odd American for about half a second before the dijin said, "So… what did you even want? Or can I go? Because honestly all this talk of food is making me hungry."

"Seriously. You're on you're _fourth_ muffin and _now_ you're getting hungry!" Nathaniel complained. "But actually I guess I'm getting a little peckish too…"

"Oh my god, are you kidding me! You're both getting _hungry!_ You were just talking about duck testicles! I want to throw up!" Brandon groaned and made a big show of flopping back on the bed rubbing at his face. Still covering his face with one hand, he pointed towards the door and said, "And _no_ you can't leave. I wanted to ask you something but your disgusting conversation made me forget. Gimmie a minute."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and said pointedly, "_Nicknames._" Knowing the sooner Brandon got thins out of his system the sooner he could go eat.

"_Oh yea!_" The blonde shot up, snapping his fingers, "Thanks Brit!" He pointed at the spirit, "You!"

"Me." The false boy responded blandly.

"Why do you call Nathaniel, Nat or Natty boy?" He questioned suspiciously.

A vacant, almost shocked expression came over Bartimaeus. He stood frozen for about a second before his mouth hooked up into condensing smile growing by teeth, "Heh. I really don't think you need to know. I think I've pissed Natty boy here off more than enough for one day."

"Ok I don't like that look. And now _I'm _curious. Isn't it just to spite me?" Nathaniel asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh sure was. But that was just in the beginning before I realized that Nat actually _really_ suited you while Nathaniel…" He shrugged, " Eh, not so much. I mean, a posh name like that fits you about as well as it would a rabid koala."

"Ok. This is starting to piss me off. I'm getting food, now."

"Why? Don't you want to know?"

"Absolutely not." Before Bartimaeus could ask why Nathaniel held up a hand and continued, "Because I _know _you and how that messed up head of yours works. You're going to tell me something that will irritate me to no end and then you'll stop calling me Nathaniel completely just so you can watch me twitch every time you call me by a nickname. So no. I don't want to know, I don't care, I'm going to live in my safe ignorant little bubble pretending that it was originally just a jibe at me that stuck and there are not hidden insults or barbs hiding beneath the surface."

"Whatever you say." The dijin said in a singsong voice and stepped aside as the boy went into the other room.

The room was silent for several minutes while the two guests listened to their host make a racket in the kitchen. Slowly the blonde regarded the false boy, who was almost finished with his muffin and asked, "Wait. Is it really an insult?"

"Oh yeah." The Egyptian boy confirmed.

"Is it at least endearing?" Brandon pushed.

The fake boy shrugged, "About as endearing as you can get with that prat."

"Rabid koala?" The blonde asked sympathetically.

With a jerk of his head, Bartimaeus confirmed. "Rabid koala."

A languid smile reached the blonde's pink lips in a sly sort of way, "Buuuuuut… koala's are cute." He said, watching Bart, "So you think he's cute then?"

Even if the blonde hadn't been waiting for it he doubted he would have missed the way the spirit's eyes widened, or the sudden redness that shone through his bronze cheeks. The dijin thumped his chest quickly to dislodge the muffin he was choking on, looked away from the blonde and muttered; "Koala's are also ruthless, merciless little monsters _especially_ when rabid."

"He is rather violet." Brandon muttered, gently massaging his sore ribcage. He smiled again, "But cute too, riiiiiight?"

Nathaniel came in at that moment carrying a tray laden with food. It was a good thing he was so focused on not spilling the food because, despite not hearing the conversation, Brandon was certain he would have questioned why Bartimaeus looked like a deer in the headlights. The expression was almost comical as the dark long legged boy certainly resembled a startled faun.

"Ok. So we are not talking about _any_ kind of names as a general rule from now on. And I reserve the right to kick either one of you out into the hurricane if you intentionally bring up a subject that will irritate me." Nathaniel muttered angrily, using his foot to snag a stool so he could set down the food on top of it. He turned to Bartimaeus just as the dijin schooled his features and said, with a disgusted glance at the muffin, "Hurry up and eat some protein before you inhale all my muffins." He then swiped up a sandwich and forced it on the boy, "It's chicken." He said tersely sitting on the edge of his bed after nudging Brandon over with a rude shove of his hip and began picking grapes off the stem and popping them in his mouth.

Brandon sat up and stole a grape, ignoring the pale teen's glare, popped it into his mouth, swallowed and parroted, "Don't displease his highness. Got it."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and sighed, "I really hope this storm ends soon…"

Bartimaeus, who was regarding the sandwich as though it might bite him, looked up to catch Brandon suggestively raising his eyebrows towards Nathaniel and smirking in an annoying fashion. The dijin looked away sharply, a faint red dusting his cheeks and growled, under his breath, "You and me both kid. You and me both."

**Awwwww yeah. Chapter complete. *Collapses* Gaaaaaaaawd I need sleep. Srry this is so late but I – having a life – started college and am trying to get a job so… I'm too busy dying to care. ANYWAY wat is dis? Brandon n Barty and on less than pleasant acquaintanceship! Oh no? Will this change? And will Nat ever learn to stop living in denial? Who knows! Oh wait. I DO. And if u wish to know as well I suggest you REVIEW! BWAHAHAHA!**


	13. STFU and Sleep Dammit

**Next chappie will be longer I promise but I don't think it'll be out til New Years and, as one of my wonderful reviewers so aptly put, it's Christmas dammit! So here's a lil something something to remind you all I have yet to meet a horrible end. Hope you all have a Very Merry Winter Holiday and I'll see you all in the New Year! :D**

_Bartimaeus_

It wasn't enough that that selfish prat had stomped all over my icky new fangled emotion things that I was just beginning to get under control. Nor was it enough that he practically broke my neck and for saving his sorry butt and then screamed at me for doing so. No. This was bloody _Nathaniel_ for the Other Place's sake.

So _of course_ the little temper tantrum and emotionally and physically _exhausting_ incidents that followed my… er actions (through no fault of my own mind you. Everything is always Nat's or some magician's fault in someway or another. _Always_.) of course wasn't enough.

Nope, nopity, no.

Not _nearly_ enough.

So of course, despite the fact he owns a double bed, he forces _both_ his guest to sleep in his tiny, crappy little living room.

Fine, Brandon could have that horrible couch for all I cared, the floor was a thousand times more comfortable anyway.

But, oh wait, you thought I was ticked off that I had to sleep in a tiny little ball on the floor next to the coffee table and try to catch a little sleep in-between the crick in my neck and the ranging, obnoxious as a stupid magician's whiny little summons, hurricane outside?

Oh you poor deluded fools.

This is simply what we call atmosphere.

I was painting a scene so you could all see what horrible stuff poor ol' Bartimaeus goes through and how _gratuitously_ I take it all.

Because, see, after all the atrocities shoved on me today I could over look every blasted one of them except for _this_ one.

I finally fall asleep and, BAM.

Friggin screaming from the other room like someone's getting murdered.

It's louder than the _storm_ for cripes sake.

So of course the blonde and I bolt awake, jump to our feet and smash down Nat's door like a daring duo racing to save the princess (because let's face it, Nat is the modern day equivalent of helpless royalty. A giant pain in my ass with nothing but a 'you should be honored you saved one of my stature' as thanks.) and what do we find?

Friggin brat sleeping like a baby.

Except, ya know, a _screaming _baby.

Screw the prat, you want a real nightmare? _Him_. Nathaniel's the real nightmare – stupid kid nearly gave me a heart attack.

"Not again…" Brandon curses and rushes over to comfort his highness and, begrudgingly, I follow after a moment's hesitation.

Because dammit I now have _feelings_ apparently.

I watch for a few seconds as the muscle bound lunk head tries to console ol' Natty until I can't take it anymore.

I mean come on – the kids freaking out, squirming around like an eel on steroids and you think a gentle shake like that will wake him? No Einstein, the poor kid's just gunna freak out more because guess what moron? He now thinks _you_ are the target he must get away from.

"Stop that." I snap rather crossly, slapping the blonde's hands off of Nat's shoulders causing the kid to fall back onto the bed like a limp noodle, the oddity of sleepiness combined with emotions making me want to slap Nat like I did last night, just to shut him up. Unfortunately, violence only seemed to make it worse so rather than kid around and try and wake him up I decide to just pull a Ptolemy and do what I used to do when ever my old master had this problem.

I gingerly sit on the edge of the bed and ease Nat over just enough so I can slip in under the covers with him.

I have not idea why but being able to feel someone next to them is an instantaneous comfort for nightmare riddle humans and the kid starts to quiet his shrieks into little hiccupping sobs.

Sighing to myself I gently pull Nat closer to me and he instantly laches onto me, his nails scratching a my bare chest to assure I can't squirm away.

With another sigh I setting myself into him and start to gently stroke his hair in time with an old Persian lullaby. Except, of course, done right.

Unlike the last time I sung it, purely to annoy the boy, I let my voice warble drunkenly up and down in pitch to the slow steady rhythm it was meant to carry.

It only takes a few minutes for Natty to finally shut the hell up and snuggle into me further. I hum in satisfaction and feel myself relaxing now that I know he's finally calm once more.

With a lazy survey of the room I find, to my chagrin, that Brandon has fallen asleep in the corner and bundled himself in a sort of blanket cocoon.

I repeat the song a couple more times until I'm sure my ex-master is good and relaxed before a cast a surreptitious look back at the blonde.

Once I'm sure the dope's asleep and will have no more fuel for his koala-innuendo based teasing, I let myself indulge in a human urge as quickly give Nathaniel a little peck on the cheek.

He sighs gently and I snuggle closer, burying my face in his shoulder and whisper, "You're more trouble than you're worth." rather affectionately in his ear before I let the warm, undeniable tug of weariness pull me into a stupidly satisfactory sleep.


	14. Shower

**Quick shout out here I love love LOVE and appreciate of all my fans and the support of this story but one fan went the extra mile and deserves a lil extra love. Seriously. ****AVeryBartimaeusMusical got sick of me dying and private messaged me over the course of several days until I finally caved and wrote another chapter. Seriously, that's a dedicated fan there. Love yah hun! **

**Also – I'll try to make a buffer so I don't go on hiatus again while I'm still in winter break. I have a couple twelve-hour school days in my weekly schedule for next term so I doubt I'll be writing much but I'll do my best! Now on to the new chappie - sorry if you guys wanted more plot but I thought a lil extra fluff was a good way to reign in the new year! :D**

_Nathaniel_

With a startled squeak, Nathanial sat up with the speed and electricity of a man whose life depended on it. His entire body shook; a film of perspiration layered his skin, making his clothes cling uncomfortably to his body.

The pale boy was breathing rapidly and had assessed the room for threats in mere seconds – the jumpiness made him listen past Brandon's quiet snoring in the corner, made his mind forget to question why his friend was sleeping curled on his bedroom floor with an oversized comforter draped around him rather than sleeping on the couch in the other room.

Nathaniel didn't ever register the dark boy who had stirred, ever so slightly, next to him on the bed and hadn't even noticed his lazy eye movement or the lean arm moving until it had shifted and forced the ex-magician back on to the bed with a strength that couldn't be denied.

They must have gone through these particular motions several times during the night, for while Nat was slowly waking up Bartimaeus seemed to be on autopilot. He didn't even acknowledge his former master's indignant squeak as his head hit the mattress and instead shifted closer to Nathaniel, causing their bodies to brush and drawing Nathaniel's attention to the arm draped lazily around him and the hand that instantly started a rhythmic brushing through Nathaniel's inky black hair.

The demon yawned, tickling his master's ear and muttered something in a language Nathanial didn't recognize. Then, much to the teen's chagrin, Bartimaeus actually started to mutter something, low and rhythmic in his throat.

At first it was hard to hear and understand what the spirit was doing, as the false boy was still very much asleep and his guise's voice muffled perfectly with sleep and weariness just as any real human's would, but then the demon shifted further, cradling Nathaniel's head to his chest, and the boy was able to pick up a familiar rhythm rumbling in Bartimaeus' chest.

The tune was quickly calming Nathaniel's paranoia and he yawned, unconsciously scooting closer to the dijin.

He wasn't sure why but somehow the lullaby made him think of the fish cakes Bartimaeus made him and stirred up a strong desire to eat some. Of course that was just the sleepiness talking in all probabilities.

Nathaniel was just about to fall asleep once more when thunder boomed again and he bolted up ramrod straight to yet again be pulled back down into the dijin.

With an annoyed huff, the now fully awake ex-magician set about escaping the clutches of his ex-servant, which was no small feat. After quiet a bit of maneuvering and somehow switching himself out for a pillow, he was able to slither out from under Bartimaeus and very nearly off the bed.

He sighed and shook his head, watching the caramel boy with a certain amount of fondness that was soon cleared with a panic as thunder boomed and illuminated the room again.

His stupid, logical magician brain simply could not allow this sliver of happiness that he in no way should have nor deserve and doubts started to worm their way into the nether regions of his conscious.

He smacked his face on both sides briefly, widened his eyes in an almost comical fashion and blinked several times in an attempt to wake himself and, when thus failed he gave up his post sitting on the very edge of the bed, leaving a wide birth around the still humming spirit and almost tripped over Brandon.

Resisting the urge to make an irritated noise, he carefully assessed the situation.

The blonde was blocking the path to the living room and Bartimaeus was closest to the washroom.

Obviously there was no way to escape to the living room and with the spirit's insane, inhuman hearing it was very likely that, despite there being enough room for Nathaniel to get in and out of the restroom without jostling him, he would surely wake Bartimaeus up if he was even a hairsbreadth louder than a mouse.

Blowing a tuft of hair out of his eyes irritably, and determined not to wake his guests, Nathaniel carefully picked his way around Brandon, gently tiptoeing close to his friend and then, like a cat burglar, every so carefully tried to raise on leg up and over his friend to situate it on the other side before trying the other. Naturally, the blonde shifted with some sleep-garbled noise and almost knocked into the pale teen who had to stifle a gasp to avoid alerting and awaking either guest.

He hastily picked his way over Brandon and, shimmying along the wall, he barely avoided smacking into Bartimaeus who, he now noticed, must have moved the bed or something because the room now had even less space than before.

He supposed it was smart, moving the bed to the far side and away from the window, which now creaked and groaned dangerously under the strain of the storm, but as the door to the bathroom could no longer be opened properly and the living room was out of the question it only succeeded to annoy Nathaniel to no end.

He had to squeeze into the bathroom through a tiny gap between the door and restroom, nearly catching himself on the hip and was so frustrated by the inconvenience that he almost slammed the door. Luckily he remembered at the last moment and succeeded in catching and gently closing the door before it could close and awaken anybody.

With a roll of his eyes, Nathaniel made a move to brush a hand through his hair and then stopped, frowning at the subconscious motion.

He sighed and, ignoring every rule and common based logic that one should never bathe in a thunderstorm – which the hurricane was quickly turning into – he stripped himself of his pajamas and gingerly climbed into the shower.

He turned on the faucet, surprised and pleased to see the storm had yet to take out the generators that heated his water, and set about trying to sort out his feelings through the jaded lens of an ex-politician.

He focused all his efforts into cleaning his body thoroughly, mechanically, and came up short with a sigh.

He leaned his aching body against the tile wall, tilted his head up, and offered his body to the stream of water. It felt nice.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Thought about it, frowned, and banged his head against the wall in frustration.

Plenty of people had grooming ticks! Why on earth did it have to be magician-like when _he_ did it? And it was all subconscious as well, how the bloody hell was he supposed to control that?

With a groan he slid down the wall and curled into a little ball. Harshly analyzing all that the dijin had told him the other night, emotions he tried to blot out came bubbling to the surface in the pit of his stomach, making him feel woozy.

It just wasn't fair – sure he'd done horrible things in his life but was it too much to ask for a spot of normalcy thrown in it? Why couldn't he just be a commoner? Lord knew it was easy enough to – Nathaniel shook his head in frustration.

_That there is why you're still a magician… _A familiar voice echoed.

Nathaniel growled to himself, trying to shake off the memory. It was hard enough just trying to accept the course of his life and move on; he loathed the dijin for bringing up a touch of his old paranoia.

The townsfolk would surely run him out by torch and pitchfork if they knew what he had been. Worse still if anyone found out Bartimaeus was a spirit… or that he used to be Mandrake? _The_ Mandrake who essentially lead a war that almost devastated their country?

Nat tried to starve off the shudder that involuntarily took hold of him and instead leaned in to a small, more hopeful part of his brain.

Did it matter?

He'd never heard anyone talking ill of magicians – not even Darren's father.

And if Brandon was really so delusional a friend that he'd seen through all Nat's ruses and tried to love doctor him…well Brandon obviously didn't give a damn if Nat was… was... on the off and certainly not very possible chance that Nathaniel _did_ enjoy Bartimaeus' company… er… the term usually described to define such a relationship by outsiders looking in… _that_ type of person… well, the blonde didn't seem to even notice that it was a taboo - that men weren't supposed to be drawn to one another.

So would it make a whole lot of difference in the blonde's mind if he knew their pairing was even _more_ of an oddity?

Would he care if Nat told him what he was?

_No, what I used to be_. The boy quickly corrected himself with a shake of the head. And would Brandon care if Nathaniel's… _friend_ was… well, not strictly human?

Odd feelings mixed in the pale boy's chest. Silent whisperings, desires he hadn't know he had…

He let his eyes fall shut, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow to shield himself from the water, and simply imagined what it might be like.

Settle down with someone nice… a friend who could care less about the implications behind that someone else, who would stay a friend no matter what.

Certainly not a family. No.

Nathaniel was terrified of children. He'd never been around a child in his life; except for the brief time he was one.

But… if he was starting a new life anyway…

There was no reason why it couldn't be… _nice. _

Nathaniel's eyes snapped open in a panic, the whites of his eyes white over taking the blue and he sat back rigidly, tense, breathing rapidly through his nose, logic suddenly seizing his brain an shaking him silly, his heart pounding rapidly in his throat.

What on _earth_ what he thinking?

Intimate relations with a _dijin_?

Telling a _commoner_ all his secrets?

He broke out in a cold sweat when he realized the implications of the situation he had gotten himself into. All the happening of the pass few days had come so rapidly he had scarcely been able to process it until now. But now that he finally had some alone time to think it over… The sheer _implications _made him shudder.

He'd actually told, of his free will, a person he hardly knew an abridged version of everything, _everything_ he'd done. It was worse than Kitty finding out – when she was told there was a crisis, lives were on the line, the knowledge was a sort of comfort – it was the only reason he'd given it in the first place.

But Brandon? There were only his own weak emotions that fueled him on at the time. Stupid, brittle, inhibiting little emotions that could get him killed. _Would_ get him killed. He should have brushed them off like he always did – why were they affecting him now?

And Bartimaeus.

Oh god Bartimaeus.

The _demon_.

What had he just told it just last night?

What had _it_ just told _him?_

Was… had it been implying it… it had _feelings _for him?

Had he been implying the same?

His gut suddenly gave violent, sickening lurch and he felt very cold despite the warmth of the water.

A trick.

This all had to be a trick.

Not just the demon, this whole bloody town.

He had been nothing but… well… _himself_ since he got there.

Without defense, showing off how horrid a creature he really was.

And he had _always _been his black-hearted self around Bartimaeus.

Nathaniel let out an involuntarily shudder thinking of all the deeds he'd done, the lives he ruined.

People like him didn't _have _friends.

Didn't get second chances.

And certainly didn't get Happily Ever After's.

The mere fact that the townsfolk actually _liked_ him or that the spirit he tortured for over six years actually came to him of it's own free will proved that this was some twisted warped reality.

Real life just didn't _work_ that way.

Not for him anyway.

Nathaniel huddled against himself, his breath coming in shuddering sobs, the rain pounding a little hard outside, mirroring the shower's downpour and blotting out all other noise.

It was almost soothing.

Nathaniel tried to use it to pick up the remaining pieces of his sanity, his head ached and a primitive fear took hold of him.

His stomach lurched again, and he twisted his body just enough that he could retch into the porcelain toilet set next to the shower.

Gasping, he staggered to his feet – feeling slightly better.

Coffee.

It had to be the bloody coffee.

It was making him positively insane.

Tea would never betray him in such a way.

He sighed. There had been far too much excitement for a few mere days; too many things his weary mind needed to sort through and he resolved to do so once he had some proper alone time.

He turned off the shower and dried himself thoroughly, taking his time, when suddenly a loud bang on the door jolted Nat out of his muddled thoughts with a shock, his heart leaping into his throat.

Quickly

He threw on his pajamas and peeked his head out the door quiet alarmed and wary only to lock gazed with the inky black depths of Bartimaeus. Startled, he quickly check to see if Brandon had woken –he hadn't – and then glanced down to determine what had hit door as the spirit hadn't moved from the bed. The tobacco tin Nathaniel kept under his pillow, that the dijin must have found and thrown, was lying and his feet. He blushed and picked it back up and put it in the dresser next the bed before casting Bartimaeus a confused and slightly irritated look.

"It's beyond stupid to bathe during a storm." The creature mutter in a curiously sleepy tone – was he truly tired? Nathaniel had always thought spirits didn't required rest in the same way mortals did – but then again he never really spend such an elongated period with one on such a personal level.

"Sorry I didn't mean to wake you." Nathaniel hedged; trying to school his emotions and ignore how cute the dijin looked with tousled hair and not too alert eyes – he couldn't let himself be fool. Bartimaeus was dangerous.

"I'm cold." The oh so dangerous being pouted, wrinkling his nose in an adorable fashion. "Get your butt back in bed and be my heater."

Nathaniel's shoulders sagged – it was impossible to stay alert and suspicious when the spirit was acting like his dorky self. Honestly. Why on earth did that stupid git have to wipe away all his doubts and suspicious with that simple, bratty sentence.

With a sigh, the ex-magician plopped down on the bed and nudged Bartimaeus' shoulder with his hip. "Then move over you git." He said primly.

"It would be my pleasure, o' my master." The dijin grumbled and wiggled over just enough for the boy to squeeze in next to him. Nathaniel squeezed in and made no attempt to get any closer. Making an irritated huff and unsatisfied by simply his ex-master's laziness, Bartimaeus snuggled into Nathaniel demanding, "You're my _heater_ – do your job you bum."

Hiding a smile and silently cursing how easily the spirit could wipe away all his uneasiness, he playfully nuzzled into Bartimaeus. "Silence fool, you fail to see it is _you_ who should do _your_ job."

**WHOO YEAH! Done! Happy New Year all of you! Will try to update more in the future but if not keep in mind I haven't forgotten you people just that I am SUPER busy! I don't get paid for this crap and must hunt down real work! XD**


	15. Advice

_Bartimaeus_

Nearly a week after the storm had passed, I was beginning to notice a few things. First off; I truly did feel an emotional attachment to Nathaniel that wasn't entirely professional. (Not that our relationship could ever really be called _professional._ A miracle more like it, or a horrible mistake, I'm pretty open.) Second, _Nathaniel_, frost-queen himself, seemed to have a similar epiphany.

Oh good, I'm sure you're thinking, now they can be all couple-ish and hold hands and do whatever disgusting things humans do when they reach the plateau of mutual not-hating-turned-to-liking-ness. (Which I'm terrified to say I actually sort of _want _to happen. Honestly, I've given up at this point and decided that I'm in a limbo where no sanity is to be had by anyone for more than five seconds.)

When has it _ever_ been that easy?!

The third and final thing I noticed is the utterly idiotic sentiment Natty boy had gotten. It's like he thinks only freaking Mother Teresa is allowed happiness and will abruptly panic and ruin any fun to be had after a certain goal of how happy he's 'allowed' to be is reached.

If we have a good conversation, or brush hands or _anything,_ the stupid kid will suddenly retreat far into himself for some 'alone time'. This usually means that he spends the next few hours mentally bellyaching or drawing or going on about how he's this terrible person that can never be forgiven and why I need to leave or whatever.

Or at least that's what seems to going on because on the Other Place itself, even if our essences were mixing and we shared his body again, I doubt I'd be any closer to getting him to talk to me on a personal level. He shut any important conversations down after –quite rudely- throwing me from his bed the morning after I had graciously calmed his nightmares. Decided he'd rather sleep with _Brandon _if he had a nightmare and needed a cuddle buddy – luckily storm let up later that day so the blonde never had a chance to sleep with him but _still. _If I had any, I'm sure my blood would've boiled at the sheer stupidity of it all. Worse, with his little friend returning home to his family, Nathaniel suddenly had every reason not to be in the house. He had to help everybody and I do mean _everybody_ fix up their houses from the storm's damage. It was bad enough that they supposedly needed him all day, but not bad enough that they needed my extra pair of hands.

Typical prat.

He was avoiding me.

And the worst part was he thought I was stupid enough not to see it.

A full week of this nonsense and I'm sure you would've been ripping your hair out too. I finally couldn't stand the awkward stilted conversations the boy and I had whenever we were both in the same room for any length of time. And if I had to talk about how nice the weather was getting and that some sod named Daryl was probably going to need Nat for fishing or some crap soon, I swear I'd go bezerk and kill everybody. (Except Nat of course, that'd be silly. Wait. No. _Especially Nat. _Only Nat. I would just kill _him_. Because then I wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense. Of course… then I'd be back to square one… probably fall into another weird depression, human emotions were odd and unpredictable like that. Maybe just kill all the distractions then? We couldn't have that conversation if Daryle was dead. Wait no… that's not right because then he'd still talk about the weather? AH DAMMIT. WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? IM CONFUSED, YOU'RE NOT HELPING – _GET OUT OF HERE.)_

And _that_ my friends (Except none of you out there are my friends so don't get cocky) is why I've finally enlisted in the help of the ignoramus currently in my presence.

As much as I dislike Brandon, he was the only one Nat seemed to talk to lately and he knew how I could try to bridge the obvious gap between the kid and I that was quickly growing into a chasm.

The blonde sat in front of me for about a minute or two, hunched over with his elbows propped atop the table and his hands folded in front if his mouth, his half empty pint sitting next to him. He seemed to be seriously pondering my question. That or he just appear to be doing so, he had been in the middle of drinking a larger when I'd burst into the tavern looking for him (I wouldn't put it past him either – I'm sure the lunk was one of those 'special' cases who suddenly found meaning in walls and inanimate objects when drunk).

Finally, just when I was about ready to throw his abandoned beer at his thick skull, he answered my question with quite possibly the stupidest pearl of wisdom I'd ever heard.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" I asked him (Not that I hadn't heard, mind you, I have excellent ears. Its just that I couldn't believe the garbage he'd decided to spout).

Brandon looked at me. It was a funny sort of look, as if he believed _I _was the dumb one of the two of us. But I'm sure that's just how his face looked when he understood he was an idiot, because clearly there was nothing I'd done wrong.

Not yet.

"I said," He started, deliberately slow as if I were a handicapped child. (If I didn't desperately need I second opinion I would've devoured the oaf for his insolence. Dammit Nat. The lows I'm forced to stoop for you…) "You need to get your revenge on him."

I stared at the big, blonde lug for a looooong while. After a few blinks and a shake of my head to confirm I was awake I told him, "Look, Brandon." His name dripped off my tongue with all the snark I could manage, "I don't think you understand what I'm asking. I actually want Natty-boy to _like_ me. You know, so we can have a conversation that lasts for more than five seconds that doesn't involve the weather."

"Pfft. Please. The only talking you wanna do with Brit involves being sideways." I sputtered indignantly at that, but Brandon continued as if I weren't molting a thousand shades of vermillion, "Look. From the nonsense he's been spouting, apparently he thinks you sought him out because you wanted revenge or some craziness. I think you being a normal, forgiving human being is kinda freaking him out. So just get revenge on him or whatever and I think it'll even out. Maybe."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." I objected immediately.

And then Brandon shrugged and said the wisest thing I'd ever heard, "A stupid solution for a stupid situation."

It made sense I supposed. The kid was so busy trying to atone for his actions (He ran away to a foreign country to renounce his magic. Pretty sure that counts as a kind of atonement) that he couldn't deal with me being nice to him. Obviously having the fabulous attention of a great dijin such as myself must be overwhelming for such a scrawny, chicken legged child. Also if I was being completely honest there were a lot of things he did that _shouldn't_ be forgivable, but given the nature of our relationship and that thing with Nouda… eh, I suppose it's just in my nature to be such a kind, forgiving creature.

As far as I was concerned we were even. The only sort spot I had with him was his little disappearing act, but we kinda addressed that (In an incredibly unsatisfactory way, but when dealing with magicians one learns less is always more. It was as good as I was likely to get).

"Ok, so what, I seek 'revenge'" I air quoted the word 'revenge'. It sounded like such a powerful thing in my mind, tempered with my 5,000 years of wisdom when floating around the planes in my mind but when voiced aloud it sounded a bit… well _silly_. "Then what? Nat just magically forgives me for everything?"

"No. He doesn't forgive you. He forgives _himself._"

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Look." Brandon sighed, "Nathaniel obviously believes he wronged you-"

"Rightly so."

Brandon gave me a look that said 'shut up if you want my help' and dryly said, "_Anyway_, the _point_ I'm trying to make is that he needs to feel like he's been properly punished for his actions _before_ you go and make out with him."

For some insane reason the word 'punished' conjured up a storm of images that had _no right_ being in my head. Perhaps it wouldn't be wrong to think of Natty so if these images weren't subjugating him to my wrath in a certain _way_. (I swear the thoughts were nothing of my doing of course. This stupid blonde boy kept putting _thoughts_ in my head and well, you know the saying of how a boil swells with little thought to the time and place… Even if that certain _boil_ is a disgusting, worthless little thing that shouldn't be worth a moment of your superior time and yet you can't help thinking about it all the damn time and – am I rambling? I am. Right.)

"Hey! _Not_ like that you!" Brandon, unfortunately, seemed to magically understand the horrible thoughts that random popped up in my head and told me, "I meant like, prank him or something so he feels you've gotten your revenge."

"Right um. Prank him." I made a sour face. It was rather hard to dispel the images floating about my head and I sorely wished they'd never popped up there in the first place. I shook my head and tried to get a hold of myself. "You know, somehow, I feel this is the wrong approach."

"Naw this is good. Just like, prank him."

"I don't know how pranks are going to help, but I suppose as far as revenge goes, that's right up my alley."

The Egyptian boy suddenly put both his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. His golden eyes bore right through his unlikely companion's. "I'll give it a shot." I said. "But for the record, if this goes sour, I blame you."

"Yeah, yeah." Brandon waved me off, once again focusing on the beer he'd been ignoring, "Go woo your princess or whatever."

I bristled at that; momentarily offended until I realized he though _Nat_ was the princess in all this. That made me smile.

"Will do."

**GUYS IM SORRY FOR THE LONG ASS HIATUS! D: The short of the story is my mom passed away and I had to move and switch colleges and all these shenanigans. UGH. Life comes at ya fast bro. Wanted to make this chappie longer but figured I shouldn't force it so yeah… Anyway, hope to be updating more soon!**


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